The Painted Woman
by Don'tEvenHaveAGun
Summary: AU: Alice has no idea why her father sent her away to a madhouse in London, but she does make an unlikely friend within her doctor. Follow dear Alice while she writes her sister that oddly never replies. Read from Julius' log that is filled to the brim in encounters with his patients. Watch Alice slowly begin to understand why she cannot remember the most important facts.
1. Chapter 1

**The Painted Woman**

**Prologue:**

_January 24, 1865 (Patient log: Alice Pleasance Liddell): Patient Alice Liddell will be arriving today to Clover Tower Psychiatric Center, from Oxford. It has been brought to my knowledge that Miss Liddell was appointed my way by her father, Henry Liddell, through a mutual contact. The young woman suffers from memory loss, or forgets whatever is not currently important in her mind. I have dealt with this before and shock therapy seems to do the trick. I will be evaluating her today before I make any drastic moves. (End: Log One)_

"But, papa. I want to live with you and my sisters." Alice was on the verge of tears, but her dainty hands crossed over her lap while she stares aimlessly out of the carriage window; she dares not to look at her age stricken father who only sighs in defeat.

"My dear girl, this is for your own good. And I promise once this is over, you will be able to come back home." Henry Liddell speaks solemnly; he was never good at comforting his children and always assumed the duty fell upon the lines of a wife. Though, the good Mrs. Liddell caught scarlet fever and was already sent to Heaven – God bless her soul. Henry did try his best, sent the best doctors his way on the countryside and lived his life under a stack of documents that still needed to be notarized, but he made his living on the foundation of his girls and lived the remainder of his life by his girls alone.

"But how long will this take, papa?" Alice speaks stern and she finally gathers all the courage to stare at her father; her eyes are glazed with the promise of new tears that were soon to stain her pale cheeks. Alice's gloved fingers curl about her long dress; there was a certain look of distain that kissed her face. "I do not like London! The people are rude and the town is filthy."

"And it is something for you to endure, my child. The time that you stay here will be determined on you. Now – cheer up my daughter. I've told you how ugly a woman looks when she cries." Henry is not the best man to approach when it comes to the subject of comfort; he was military before he was a father, and he took the change in strive.

Alice nods regardless and wipes the sides of her face with her wrist, "Yes, papa, I know." Alice pulls her false smile that tinges her delicate lips; young Alice was always good at hiding her emotions under the veil of a smile – most women were masters in the arts of hiding.

"Now that's my girl!"

-x-

Doctor Julius Monrey waited outside the carriage with an umbrella in hand and his paperwork in the other. The door of the carriage opened to reveal the young woman on the inside of the vessel; he waited patiently for her to gather her stuff and extended the umbrella out so the woman wouldn't touch downpour. "Excuse London weather, Miss Liddell." The doctor spoke smoothly, almost stern in his approach and it made Alice cringe. "The name is Doctor Julius Monrey. Mister Monrey will do just fine. No need to exchange pleasantries when I already know your name."

"Doctor Monrey." Henry stepped out from the buggy, holding the rest of Alice's personals within the tan briefcase. The men shook hands and were persuaded to move faster by the doctor.

"My check made it in I hope? I did address the check to your foundation." Henry Liddell helped his daughter from her coat, shaking the rain from it. After Mister Liddell dealt with his daughter's needs, he attended to his own by tapping the loose rain from his top-hat.

"No need to worry, Mister Liddell. Your check made it in before the deadline to pay." Julius extended his hand out to take Alice's coat so he could round it with the rest of her stuff; the floorboards from under Julius' weight creaked with every step he partook in. Shoes began to scuff through the dimly lit halls of the building, noise was almost nonexistence – besides the creaky floorboards from underneath them.

"Clover Tower was founded in 1834, by my grandfather. You can say that dissecting the human cerebellum is a family trade." Doctor Monrey went on, "Normally, it's rare that we accept females, but studies have shown that a woman has the mentality to break down before a man. From what I've gathered from past colleagues – and their notes, I feel that is debatable, women are stronger then what society leads on. "

"– Are you implying that my Alice will be the only female within this building?" Henry Liddell inquired, his' brows pinching together to gather his own thoughts, stringing together whatever the good doctor spoke.

"No. We have another; her case is stranger than Alice's I'm afraid." There was a pregnant pause and this allowed Julius to study the fair-haired woman that returned his stare with soft doe-eyes. "Right this way, your room is down the hall, Miss Liddell. Please remember the number twenty-four, this is your room number if you happen to become lost." The doctor helped Mister Liddell carry the rest of Alice's luggage through the ample walls and twisting darkness from where the lights didn't catch.

"Doctor, correct?" Henry goes on. Julius slowly nods his head in acknowledgement, "You're not from London?"

"No, no I am not." Julius' shoulder nudges Alice's door open and he begins to unload his arms from the bags, Julius guides Alice within the room, hanging her damp coat upon the coatrack that erected proudly by the door. Alice waited patiently upon her new bed, watching the bickering that her father unraveled the doctor with.

The doctor, oddly, must not be the one to hold conversation. It would be Alice's father, Mister Liddell, to gander his questions about Julius' ancestry. "You have an interesting accent, doctor. I've only noticed it once you started talking, but you mask it fairly well. Background tells a lot about a person, wouldn't you agree doctor?"

"To some extent you may be right, Mister Liddell. Yes, I am not from London, even if I have family here, but I was raised in Germany for the majority of my life." Julius crossed his arms and analyzed the older male within the room, his longer hair casted behind his shoulders, his glasses just about to fall off the tip of his nose when his eyes narrowed at Alice's father.

"Would you mind telling me what your immediate family use to do?" Mister Liddell spoke with inquisitive interest.

"I do mind, Mister Liddell. I do not intend to be rude, and please forgive me in doing so, but the matter of my family's welfare is not the manner of our business – nor will it cause conflict in your daughter's rehabilitation. I promise to take care of Alice, no harm will befall upon her under my care." Alice's eyes lingered from her father to the doctor that held bitter intentions upon his thin lips.

-x-

_Dearest Lorina, _

_I do not like it here, nor do I understand my purpose of being moved to London and placed within a mad house. Furthermore, and do forgive me for not biting my tongue upon the matter, I am rather upset with father with the change. This occurred, and you were there upon a Sunday morning, that father belittled my piano performance; he marked that I was not as skilled as you and would never obtain a husband before he dies. _

_The private matters of my life do not conflict his interest. And he bluntly proclaimed that I have brought shame among the family with my performance and my life choices. He believes that I live in a storybook, that I am a silly dreamer. I do believe he is intimated by me. By you, me, and mother. (God bless her heart.) Edith is too young to understand, but he will probably treat her the same. Men of this world do not understand that women are smarter and not a frailty to be reckoned with. _

_Dearest sister, I miss you and wish you the best; don't get married without me. _

_Your little sister, Alice _

Alice held the folded letter to her chest; making time while she pondered the old halls of the building. If she was going to lodge, she figured she might as well map out her surroundings. The halls were lit with complete darkness and not a sound was misplaced upon the atmosphere. The tower smelt of thick dust and was proven so when Alice mindlessly swiped her delicate fingers across furniture surfaces to test out her environment.

The doctor, Mister Monrey, was a rather peculiar man. He deemed his title when he glared at Alice's father with his menacing blue fixation, testing the boundaries before Alice figured she had to intervene. Alice's father never fancied foreigners that took business from British settlements, and he hated a man that talked back. Male ego was an interesting topic, how they'd go from gentle to frustrated baffled Alice greatly.

Alice loved her father, loved him with all her heart and mind, but her father was a judgmental man that lost his wife far too early. Alice would understand that loneliness festered the right-of-mind and questioned their everyday life; Henry Liddell began to shut his life away from his children and ended up dismissing any form of conversation that resulted to his late wife, Alice's mother.

Alice finally descends the flight of stairs that connected to the front of the building, then she turned for a right before making it to her final destination. Alice truly worried that the doctor has finally turned in for the night, but she noticed a single candle flicker against the pane of glass from his door. Alice, clutched the letter tight to her chest, mostly out of fear of how the doctor would react about her intrusion, but she waited and pondered till she finally built enough courage to tap the door with her thin knuckle.

Alice held her breath when she heard a chair squeak from behind the confines of the door, then footsteps waltz upon the old wood finish, and the door finally turned to reveal the rather tall doctor. He was quiet for a moment, holding out his candle to take in his visitor. "Miss Liddell," Julius Monrey whispered, his voice harmonized and it made Alice bite her tongue; she prayed not to say anything foolish.

"Doctor Monrey." Alice gave into a tilt of her head, but the doctor's expression never changed. He, too, showed her the same amount of respect in bowing his head to her.

"You do know what time it is, Miss Liddell? I advise you to return to your bed. Are you lost, perhaps? I can instruct my assistant or the house doctor to take you back to your room." His voice rolled monotone, patient in every aspect. His attitude was daunting, but at the same time - admirable.

"No, sir, I came looking for you upon a favor. A request actually." Julius waited for the girl to unfold the crumbed paper from her chest and placed it within his larger hand, "It's a letter – addressed to my sister."

It almost surprised Alice when Julius spoke back, questioning her motive, "And which sister is this?" The question was baffling, and she had no idea why this man would ask such a redundant question.

Alice answered, nonetheless, "My older sister, Lorina."

"I see." Julius folded the letter back up and tucked it behind his jacket and into the extra pocket of his vest, "I will see what I can do, Miss Liddell."

"It means a lot, doctor, thank you." Alice gave into another bow, and her hands smoothed out her nightgown.

"Of course, but if you are to be giving me letters – please seek me in the mornings during our evaluations. It is not safe wandering the halls at night - not with your neighbors."

"Of course, doctor." Alice's voice is meek, it is almost like being scolded by a soft spoken parent.

"Do you need any help in returning to your room?"

"No thank you." Alice faintly smiled, but she doubted that the good doctor could see it through the darkness.

"Then sleep well, Miss Liddell and remember to lock your doors at night." 


	2. Chapter 2

**The Painted Woman**

_January 27, 1865 (Patient log: Alice Pleasance Liddell): Some mentally disturbed people may have been victims of the witch-hunts. People are evil and they declare so by seeking out my staff and more importantly my patients that wish to interact with civilized life. I'm finding it harder and harder in sending my patients out to practice their social skills; I've also grown aware by the large population of males that live within the Clover Towers with Alice along with Vivaldi. Vivaldi is a stronger individual and can situate herself with the male class and has not had any buffs with her male neighbors; besides loathing everyone and everything. Alice will be a different case, she does not understand the world around her and is gravely naïve. My fear lies within human monstrosities and the sexual deviants. My biggest fear is for outsiders targeting my patients and overpowering them due to their sickness – this fear also lies at the root of my own building with said male population. _

_Alice has spent the last two days sheltered with my cook/assistant, Gray Ringmarc along with Vivaldi Dupre. This progress has pleased me greatly and I may grant her tower leave if she continues to adept and learn that the world around her is a vile place with vile men and no one should be trusted. I believe on her first run I will send her out with Vivaldi to acquire female toiletries, and personal knit-knacks. Upon the second I will send her off with Mr. Ringmarc to the drug store down the block. Possibly the third trip I will send her by herself to pick up the groceries at the butcher._

_The insane are viewed as insensitive wild animals. Alice is different, I believe. (End: Log Two)_

Alice waited patiently within the ticking mind of Julius' office. She crossed her hands over each other, and pressed her back firm against the surface of her chair that was offered. Alice was an inquisitive girl, that pondered abstract thoughts and let her eyes linger curiously around the environment of the office, not a thing was misplaced nor a speck of dust kissed the solid surface of oak furniture; the atmosphere made her feel content and she basked in the unfamiliar sensation of home.

Within this office was a wide range of hobbies and bobbles that called for her attention. The insides of clocks spewed its' springs and cogs, several cases of oil were stacked neatly upon one edge of the office room desk.

On Julius' cherry-wood finish desk sat an impressive collection of ballpoint pens and folders that were categorized by names that Alice was not grown familiar with, not yet; Alice has yet to meet the rest of the residents, besides Vivaldi that the cook introduced her to.

The room faired a few degrees colder than any other room within the tower, the room itself barely looked like it should be inhabited and was more destined to reside within a museum rather than a doctor's study. The air was stale and the currents were closed shut; Alice had an engrossing urge to stand up from her spot and open up the windows to let whatever London weather had to offer today; partly cloudy with a chance of chirpy townsfolk that passed by the bustling windowpane.

Alice took the moment of silence, she indulged in the fact that life will coexist even if her father found the faults in it. Alice was a foolish heart, she was a dreamer, and she told stories that seemed unbecoming to her father; she was expected to be punctual, she was demanded to change even if she never wanted to acknowledge the idea of mandating her life. When she was told to adapt to the idea of corsets and heels, Alice turned her nose at the change. After some bickering with her older sister, Alice finally caved and her father subsided his petty judgment.

Alice loved her father dearly, or so she thought when she glowered at the currents from the windowpane, making out silhouettes of people that passed by. She snickered and thought _she had to love him. _Women are supposed to smile, be pretty, and never admit that they give into emotion or temptations. Women are supposed to lay on their backs for a man, give birth to how many children a man demands, and cook and clean while a man supplies; this social ethic belittled Alice, the idea made her sick to her stomach. She was a woman and she was going to be pleased by it.

There was a rather large frown that cut the grain from her face and the doctor noticed once he finally entered his room, slowly closing the door behind him; Alice didn't seem to notice but instead stared in interest of whatever the windowpane showed her. It wasn't till Julius spoke that Alice perked up and wiped the frown clean from her face, "Miss Liddell?" The doctor's voice was soft, meek, and questioned every fiber of her being.

"Doctor? I did make it on time. You did tell me two o'clock sharp." Alice inquired. Her big, blue doe eyes studying the tall doctor that balanced his work underneath his arm. She smiled faintly when he returned her thoughtful look, but did not smile.

"I did. Did you have to wait long, Miss Liddell?" His shoes clicked against the solid wood floors, then crossed the threshold of rug that extended from under his desk to the adjacent chair from Alice's. He placed the vanilla folders down over the already tall stacks of folders, bending from his waist to acquire one of his ballpoint pens.

"No, sir. I've only just made it ten minutes before you showed. So I assumed to only wait for you to come." Alice nodded slowly, her eyes brimmed in nervous intentions. Julius plucked his clipboard and settled down on the opposing chair from Alice's. "I was helping Mister Ringmarc with preparing shortbread and brewed a fresh pot of coffee on the table."

"So it's safe to assume that you've settled in fine? No problems with your living arrangements, I hope." Julius hummed in approval, already setting to work with scribbling against his clipboard with the freshly pulled paper.

"No, sir. Everyone I've met has been very civil towards me – thought – I've only met the head nurse that goes by an intriguing name –"

"-Nightmare." Julius concluded and Alice quickly shook her head.

"Him! Yes, I've met him. Don't label me rude in saying that Mister Nightmare is rather sick to be a nurse, I sort of find it ironic."

"The Irony is that the cook takes care of him – my assistant Gray Ringmarc."

Alice gave into a subtle laugh, her irises were dancing and full of mirth, "Possibly the whole occupational field is a huge irony. Mister Ringmarc has no idea about the principles of cooking and couldn't tell the difference between a spatula and a butter knife. Twenty minutes in the cooking process Mister Ringmarc was called in the back of the tower to help poor Mister Nightmare that has fallen ill; I had to finish the cooking and the coffee brewing by myself." Alice nodded again, keeping her smile plastered upon her delicate lips, "Hopefully it's not too bold to say that men would fall off the base of the planet if women were not around to hold them upright."

"That would be a safe and – truthful accusation, Miss Liddell." The doctor didn't smile, but he was drawn to her carefree nature, even if the circumstance had her living in a strangers' building, along with mad men; even worse than being dubbed mad herself. Julius cleared his throat and pulled his clipboard to eye level, "Shall we get started?" Alice nodded and straightened her posture upon the leather exterior of the chair, her hands smoothing out the wrinkles of her dress. "How old are you, Miss Liddell?"

Alice spoke fondly, proud in the simple question that unraveled before her, "Nineteen coming this May." Julius nodded again, his pen clicking and checking off whatever detail that was spread across the paper.

"How are you feeling today? Have any trouble sleeping?"

"It'd be safe to say yes."

"How so?" Julius stared up from his clipboard.

"Wouldn't you have a hard time tucking in at night, in a building that you were not raised in? I'm sure I'll become accustomed, but I do miss Oxford." Julius wrote down whatever interested him again and Alice sat quietly, waiting for whatever that came to mind.

"We all must endure trivial things in life, Miss Liddell." The doctor bluntly stated and the comment alone stained Alice's mood. "Do you dream when you sleep? If so – do you remember any dreams that stick out to you? I've came across a study that the average person dreams of five different scenarios, but only two or one or none stick with them when they awake in the morning." Julius clicked his pen down, "Remembering dreams become harder once a person hits puberty."

"What do dreams have to do with this, doctor?"

Julius leaned back in his own chair, situating himself in a comfortable stance, "Dreams are images, ideas, emotions, and sensations that occur involuntarily. Dreams are split up on what you do with everyday life and hold certain meanings. Even if you do not find something interesting, your brain triggers to it."

"What about reoccurring dreams?" Alice tiled her head, her lips parted and seemed almost dumbfounded by the silly notion. London was bustling in an industrial era all on its own, and the streets loomed in fog and science. Medical breakthroughs seemed flawed in her mindset.

"Those are even more interesting, Miss Liddell. Do you have any to share?"

"It's foolish to actually recall. Women shouldn't dwell on petty dreams."

Julius eyed her, "Whatever you say is not going to be foolish. In fact, the only thing foolish is for you believing that." His pen clicked and he scribbled whatever was necessary.

Alice's eyes widened, and she took a nervous sigh, "Alright. I have two. Two are entirely different. One is of me sitting in my garden in Oxford, my older sister Lorina is reading to me, but then she gets mad at me for falling asleep –" Alice shrugged but chuckled warmly over the recollection, "My older sister would complain then retreat back to the house to find a deck of cards to keep me awake, so I'll wait for her and all is quiet – till I see the most astonishing thing – a little rabbit with human clothing hops by and complains about time; he'll tell me I'm late for an important date and coax me down his little rabbit hole."

"And do you ever go down the rabbit hole?"

Alice chuckled darkly at the situation she was in, telling tales of her wondering mind was absolutely embarrassing, "Never. I'll wake up before I even step close to the rabbit hole."

"I see." Julius nods and is beckoned to the same ritual of writing down her madness. Alice sighs uncomfortably, "And what of your other dream?"

"Dark. This other dream is – rather hard to talk about."

"Please try to the best of your ability. I only aim to help."

"I know, thank you. It's raining in this dream, but I do not stand alone. In this dream it overlooks a funeral in progress, I do not hear anything nor the rain that pelts my umbrella when I stand in a crowd of faceless people; all assorted but very much the same. I stand in the back of the crowd, watching people step up one-by-one to pay their respects to the person in casket."

"Do you ever see the person in the casket, if so, do you recognize them?"

"I'm sad to inform you, doctor, that I've never had a chance to stand up and walk by the coffin. Just like the rabbit dream, I wake up before I have a chance to observe."

-x-

"You can keep a heart beating with electricity, but does a soul stay in one place? Do I damper the tied soul with trickery? I dive into the very avenues of my mind to ponder my research; I've taken the hearts of small rats and even acquired a heart from a horse." Nightmare inquires to Julius, both doctors of different sciences chatter.

"I believe once the nerves are cut from the brain, that the body simply knows that time has stopped. But I do not consider the afterlife, nor the simplicities of permanent slumber. If my mind is to give first, I wouldn't want my heart to keep beating from under the floors of my chest. I'm only wasting energy and oxygen." Julius took in a great deal of air, sighing over the foolish notion and how this conversation even started – he was too tired to truly contemplate upon it nor did the doctor care. "And here I was believing that you were sane. I believe you caught the curious plague of madness and need to subside your brain fevers. You need to reeducate yourself." Julius drones sarcastically, but the other doctor frowns.

"And here I was hoping to discuss science with a colleague –"

"– With a different practice and degree, yes, I find this absolutely fair with anatomy and physiology – dare I delve into the theory that men are born evil and just like the moon, we all have dark sides that some are better at hiding it than others? Or shall I dissect that one-track mind of yours? I sometimes wonder how you left The Academy with your head in the clouds and your brain in your pants."

"Charm and intellect will take a man to the stars, charm and beauty will take a man to a woman's bed." Nightmare chimes singsong. Nightmare's smile causes Julius to mutter his profanities that drape from his lips, a frown plastered within the depths.

"And simple minds give me the urge to smother you with a pillow while you sleep at night." Julius deadpans and Nightmare can only snicker.

"Such a hotheaded German." Nightmare continues to taunt and both of the men wander down the amble halls of the tower, checking the doors and wiggling the knobs to check up on patients that have yet to risen.

"Miss Liddell are you decent?" Julius speaks through the door and he waits to listen for a flutter of bare feet that quickly pad against the wood floors. Alice quickly opens the door, decked in her nightgown.

"Forgive me doctor! Vivaldi and I will be out to join for breakfast in thirty minutes. We were up all night talking again –"Alice's cheeks are kissed in velvet as she cowers under the blank stare of her physiatrist, the taller man grumbles and nods his head.

"Please hurry, Mister Ringmarc offered to take you to town today to pick up some mended clothing from The Hatters today, then you are to accompany him in picking up groceries." Julius murmurs, and Alice quickly nods her head again to gain his favor.

"Yes, sir! Sorry to keep you waiting." There was something hinted in Alice's tone, it almost sounded pleading or embarrassed by the fact that she let time dwindle to her on accord.

"Don't be so hard on the girl, ol' man!" Nightmare calls from over Julius' shoulder. Julius falls silent and continues down the hall of the tower.

Alice peeks over the side of her doorframe, a frown taking fold over her delicate lips. "I hope I didn't upset the doctor." Alice talks to Nightmare who only shrugs over the outcome.

"Na, the ol' sport is always like that. Always down for business. I'm getting ready for the call when the cook runs in and screams that the German finally keeled over." Alice is mortified by Nightmares' joke, snapping, "Don't say things like that! There is nothing humorous about a dead man slumped over his desk."

"Then you must not know a lot about my business." Nightmare chirps dreamily and Alice shivers at the thought of anyone dead in front of her.

-x-

"I feel like it's always raining."

"In London? That'd be an understatement." Gray held out his umbrella for Alice and she quickly joined the cook at his side; her arm looped around his. "I'm waiting for the rain to swallow us up actually." Gray peered out through the rain, their shoes clicking against the cobblestone of the road.

"It wouldn't surprise me. Probably sweep away the filth." Alice grumbled and tightened her arm around the cook's arm.

"Ah, well, living in London hasn't been too hard on you? I hope to some extent you haven't had a difficult time with finding your place around the city." The two continued on through the bustle of crowd and tapping out through rush hour when the factories around London sprang to life and billowed smokestacks; fog-smitten skies disgusted Alice and she felt like drawling a bath once she returned to the tower.

"This is actually my first time out – I've been – nervous about setting foot out. Also the doctor dubbed it not wise that I'd go out on my own." Alice hums and Gray nods his head, he helps her prevail through the sea of gents that crowd from every angle of street; they make a stop at the end of the block to wait for a carriage to drive by.

"Wouldn't surprise me he would be worried about you going out. London is not safe, not during the day and not even at night. Just something we have to deal with."

"Women, Mister Ringmarc. Hence it is not safe for women." Alice notes and Gray straightens his poster to cast Alice a look.

"To some extent, yes. Between a shiv and prostitution I fear for you, myself. Also for Vivaldi – even if she's too hardheaded to see through the flaw." Gray was a simple man, tender in every aspect and was easy to talk to; Alice truly enjoyed her conversations with the mishap chef.

"I hate the idea of women being targeted."

"Not just women." Gray clears his throat and points his index to the adjacent end of the street that he and Alice were crossing. Alice's eyes widened in horror when she witnessed small boys with signs that hung about their necks, each boy held a different number and were paraded like cattle.

"Please don't tell me –"

"– Humans are evil Miss Liddell, men even more so. They ship them in from farming villages, bastard children and extra months that can't be fed." Alice quickly looks away from the children and doesn't spend a lot of time to dwell on Gray's harsh reality.

"I want to go home. I hate London."

"It happens everywhere, Miss Liddell. I'm truly sorry you had to see that." Gray harmonizes softly, his free hand patting over her arm to comfort her.

The two spends the day together, poking in and out of shops to gather the assorted goods that were sketched into a shopping list. One-by-one Gray begins to check off the items. "We still have to pick up the mended clothing." Alice remarks.

"Hm, you're right. Do you mind if you pick them up, Alice? The butcher's shop is directly in front of the Hatters. I'll pick up the ingredients for tonight's dinner and you pick up the clothes. Here -" Alice extends her hand out to accept the shillings dropped into her palm.

"Alright – so just ask for Mister Nightmare's clothes, correct?" Alice tucked the shillings into her pocket that's been sown into her dress.

"Yes – are you going to be okay doing this? I can always go in with you if you're truly uncomfortable being alone." Gray offers, but Alice quickly declines with a smile.

"No, sir, I'll be fine."

-x-

"Welcome, welcome!" A man calls out from over the counter, a smile reaching from ear-to-ear. "What can I do you for miss?" This tall fellow would bellow, fingers taping against the gradient of his counter. Alice quickly stepped into the shop with the sound of this man's voice, it was to great haste that she closed the door behind her and wiped her shoes off on the carpet offered. The fair-haired man rounded his counter to help Alice tread further into the establishment; the smell of burnt strawberries lingered.

This man was notably tall, his hair tied back with a lavender ribbon that complimented his ash, red-hair, his eyes also hinted violet while his smile pondered upon the lines of too friendly for Alice's taste, but she accepted it wholeheartedly. "I'm actually here for pickup on Mister Nightmare's behalf, the doctor in Clover Tower."

"Ah? Ah! Yes, yes. The strange fellow that popped every button from his coat." The redhead waved Alice in and she followed close. "I wasn't expecting you to pick this up, normally I'm approached by a Mister Ringmarc when it comes to the doctor's affairs – I'm expecting a change in management?" The seamstress cocked a brow and Alice faintly shook her head.

"More like I offered for Mister Ringmarc. My name is Alice Liddell." Alice cleared her throat, "I happen to live at Clover Towers."

"Live, you say? Hm, and what a pleasure to meet you Miss Liddell, the name is Elliot. Elliot March." Elliot keeps his smile warm while he thumbs through the piles of clothing that's stacked behind the counter, eyeing through the masses of tags that poked out from every bundle of clothing.

"You too, Elliot." Elliot finally finds that coat and slings the bundle upon the counter.

"Found it!" Elliot folded the attire for Alice, shoving it into a paper sack, "You're new to London? I was going to ask –"

"- I am. I moved here several days ago."

"Really, from where?"

"Oxford." Alice chimed and Elliot nodded.

"My boss just came from Oxford. You should meet him the next time you're in. He'd really like you, Miss Liddell."

"He may know someone from my family." Alice kept her hazed smile and plucked the bag from Elliot's fingers. "Ah, well, thank you Elliot. I'll see you next time?"

"You bet! Have a safe trip back Miss Liddell."

-x-

_Dear Lorina, _

_Do not believe that glamor lies in the roots of city life, the fable stories of beauty do not live here, my dearest sister. I have seen horrors that no good heart should witness and tasted bitterness in seeing it firsthand. I am content in knowing that you will not step foot within London, I wouldn't think your own heart could fathom the tertiaries that lurk throughout these concrete jungles. _

_I wouldn't say all bad is lurking, even if these walls are brought up upon the blood of others, there are still good souls that deem this place. I have met a shopkeeper with ash, red-hair and lavender eyes, and he goes by Elliot March – he was most kind to me. I have spent time with the Tower's cook, Gray Ringmarc, a handsome man with a peculiar tattoo etched upon his neck, a small iguana; he told me an old medicine woman from France did it for him, took a needle and pen ink that she bled into his skin, he also told me that it was most painful. I have had several words with the Tower's doctor, a Mister Nightmare; this man complains most of all, and dabbles in the simple affairs of flesh (or so he says.) I have met another female among my group, she is older and cannot comprehend in describing herself with a singular usage; she would rather say 'we' or 'us'; Vivaldi is a sweet girl but has much to work out. Lastly, Mister Julius Monrey. He is a very quiet man among the tower, speaks of gruesome things and can only love his work. Doctor Monrey can be a very hard man to talk to, but I suspect good in him – only time can tell._

_I truly hope you'll write me soon._

_Forever waiting, your sister, Alice_

"Another letter Miss Liddell?" Julius' eyes shift away from his book and he tips his glasses away when Alice steps around his desk to approach him.

"Yes, sir." She hands him the folded paper, a smile cut fresh for display and yet again, Julius would nod and tuck the letter into his vest pocket.

"I will see what I can do, Miss Liddell." Julius implies and continues on to engross himself into his book, reading the romances that the brain delivers; he wishes to best Nightmare in all his shabby talk of the human physiology. 

**A/N: I'll proofread this later and will be adjusting it. Bear with me in this journey to improvement and the studies of the human brain! **


	3. Chapter 3

**The Painted Woman**

_February 13, 1865: (Patient log: Ace [Last name unknown]): I've stumbled upon this beggar two seasons prior, like the majority of London grounds and it's people, the insane are sent to refuge in workhouses and small businesses that dot the plains. This young man is a baffling case since he was sent my way with little background history and no ser name for me to base my studies on. Ace is always smiling, but his actions do not match up with his external emotions. If I was being truthful with myself, this young man is terrifying with rumor to supply my doubt; I will have to keep my eye on him. The rest of the staff has been notified the same advice. _

_Ace, so far, has given me no trouble besides the regular mill babble. He prides himself on the foundation of being friendly towards strangers, but he stares, and that is where the problems begin. He watches my patient, Alice, with great interest; something like a lion that preys upon a little lamb. He'll deny any motive if questioned on the spot. The term, "She's peculiar" is also loosely used. With this information, I've instructed Gray Ringmarc to always linger where Alice wonders._

_I've been tempted to report him to the authorities. Ace will stumble in smelling of gunpowder and iron, but his clothing shows no signs of wear-and-tear and any blood residue cannot be seen by the naked eye. As a doctor, I am sworn to fulfil my duty. As a man with commonsense – I worry. (End: Log fifteen) _

Alice wanted to spit vulgar audacities to the person on the adjacent end of her hallow-door. She tossed and turned till her face smothered into the simple bedding of her pillow; fingers curling into the feathers of her pillow, her blanket pulled over her head. "Alice, you know it is far too late to be sleeping. Come help me brew the coffee." It was Gray and he jingled the doorknob on the opposing end. His voice was lathered in a certain humor. He could hear Alice whisper her profanities, or so, she tried to whisper them.

"You're only waking me up early because you can't grind the coffee beans. Do your work, Mister Ringmarc." Alice blew a couple of loose strands of her hair away from her face; she stretched her arms above her head.

"No one does it like you do, Miss Liddell." Gray grinned and Alice could tell by the way his voice wavered and the way that knob from the door that kept jingling. Alice tried to rise from her bed, truly, but the wood floors were tinged cold and she couldn't bear pattering the floors to retrieve her stockings.

"No, Gray, I want to sleep today." Alice called out and rummaged to place the pillow over her head to drown out Gray's pestering; the cook was becoming bold, too bold.

"Miss Liddell, it seems you've forgotten that I hold the master key to all the doors in the tower. I advise making yourself decent or I will be introduced to assets that I deem I have no privilege looking upon. Nightgown and all, Alice." Gray taunted, his voice shrilled in singsong intentions and Alice groaned.

"You wouldn't dare!" Alice heard her door click but did not open.

"Try me, Miss Liddell. When work is to be done, I intend on finishing it."

"You bloody man! Fine, fine! Give me twenty minutes to gather my possessions and I'll meet you in the kitchen." Alice cursed from her parted lips. Her eyes narrowed at the door. She was loathing Gray for the moment, letting it simmer till she finally had enough energy to wiggle herself free from her maze of blankets.

Alice stumbled from her bed, making her way to her tiny dresser that folded out and revealed today's apparel. Alice had no means of leaving the tower for chores today, so she plucked a simple dress and a pair of wool stockings, and slipped into her black slip-ons that clicked against the hard surface of the tower's floor. She brushed her hair free from tangles, and applied powder to her face, like she did for every day occasions.

Once Alice made it through the barrier of the kitchens doors, she showed nothing pleasing about the fact of being hauled off by Gray who quickly put her to work. "I sometimes wonder how you managed before me." Alice seethed and Gray shrugged his shoulders with a simple smile plastered upon his handsome features.

"A month of being spoiled with having a woman around seems so – hard to remember before that." Alice watched the way Gray pulled a kitchen knife from the hilt of his stained apron, turning his attention to the carrots that needed to be sliced for tonight's dinner. "Doctor Monrey seems more pleasant with decent dinners since you came along, Miss Liddell." It was an absentminded comment nonetheless, Alice took notice.

"Really?" Alice has already made busy with slicing the bushel of apples that Gray picked up for her from yesterday's shipment of rummaging through rations; apples were rare, and Alice always questioned where Gray acquired all these fresh fruits and vegetables. "I didn't know Doctor Monrey understood the definition of pleasant. Seems more foreign in describing him with such a word. Brash would seem reasonable. Shut-in? Of course."

Gray wheezed; his knife clipping fast through the carrots while Alice struggled to butcher just one apple. "Ah – don't be too hard on the bloke. Women are certainly scornful, learned so in France." Gray chuckled lightheartedly, with Alice likewise.

"France – yes, you do talk about France quite a lot, Mister Ringmarc." Alice grumbled, placing one skinned apple off to the side so she could begin the preparation on another. "You've never mentioned what you use to do in France." Typical conversation like this seemed second natured to Gray and Alice, she felt like she made a dear friend in the coming month of February; the man was clearly always around her.

"What'd I use to do, eh? Hell, I haven't been to France in eight years." Gray murmured, wiping his hands off on his apron from his finished work; he finally walked to Alice's side to help her with peeling the apples, his thumb pressed hard against the surface of the knife, letting the skin separate from the apple. "Simply this, Alice. I've always have been – a cook." To each their own, Alice mused when she heard Gray's blunt lie fester from his lips. Gray's eyes narrowed in deep thought, but Alice didn't press on. Gray may play the suave charm, but he always seemed so reluctant if he was put on the spot; Alice could read him like an open book.

-x-

"To let a man fall to his folly, workhouse accidents are not as rare as you think. Like this one time, I seen one of the mill wheels yank this boy's arm off clean from his socket. The cog devoured and kept turning even while the boy begged and cried."

"And you didn't help him?"

"No. I was already docked from pay – why put in extra work?" Ace mused, his smile brimming off the white textures of his face; his eyes betraying nothing but mirthful ways. Julius showed no emotion, but in the back of his mind he was simply appalled by the blunt nature of this man and how morbid he viewed life. "It's not like I could have helped him if I wanted to. The wheel was going too fast, it basically yanked the boy from his spot. The wheel stalled when the boy's bones cracked and wedged between the cogs."

"You show no remorse for this child? The one that lost his footing and fell into the mill?" Julius bit his tongue, his pen jotting down the detail: _Madman. No interest in life. A blooming menace to society. Lost._

"Death happens all the time. Why grieve? The only thing good about life is the sex and a shared pint." Ace grinned and he waltzed about Julius' office with ease, curiously peeking through the books that made home upon his dusted shelf. Ace would begin spilling his nonsense, he always have, "The light –"

"What?" Julius, subconsciously would flicker his eyes to his parted window, something that Alice must have done on one of their sessions.

"The light here isn't right. Too harsh. And it all comes from above. I've seen the sun, but the sun here doesn't set the same today." Ace mutters to himself, his skilled fingers looming and gripping at the spines of medical books and assorted notes that Julius collected through the years of his practice; he's seen many cases.

"Can you explain? I'm grasping at straw with you now, Ace." Julius' voice steadies, but he is cautious at the close proximity that he and Ace shares. It takes a lot to startle Julius, but today he is certainly weary and he thinks back on his pistol's location; under the floorboard of his desk.

Ace begins to slowly pull the books from the shelves, and the papers that were tucked inside began to scatter across the vacant floors. Books are knocked over and are almost thrown across the room. "I can't pinpoint why I can't remember, or what caused my sudden reaction to ignore the child while his bones cracked and his skull caved in from the cogs. I don't remember why I enjoy the smell of gunpowder, or why I loath prostitutes that walk the streets. But I do. I hate them with every fiber of my being." Ace chuckled darkly and the sound came deep from within his chest; his pair of tulip eyes targeted Julius for the briefest of moments.

"You must believe I'm mad, don't you doctor?" Ace whispered and Julius is quiet for the longest time. Julius simply can't morph out this situation and he analyzes Ace like a dream; not completely there. "It's easier to believe everyone is mad, doctor. Even you say it – that every person has a dark side that needs to be conquered. Even the noblest priest can be a complete prick. Right, doctor?"

"To – some extent." Julius is calm and places his clipboard down upon his lap, letting his ballpoint pen rest on the flat surface of the board. Julius slowly removes his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose to subside a rising headache that threatened to arise, then blinks several times to contemplate the climax of this spiraling spectrum conversation.

"Is there a panacea for my brain fevers? Will I be forever lost, doctor? I've never asked for nothing, doctor, and that is what I got." Ace's voice rises, and he prays for anything audible, "I can't even tell if I have a problem or if there really is one." Ace stalks closer to Julius, but Julius does not flinch when the man's face is inches away from his; he's bitten the hand that fed him and found himself bleeding. Ace's mind is gone.

"I could prescribe –" Julius begins but is cut off by the sneer in Ace's lips, the boy keeps grinning and it haunts Julius to the core, but he keeps his slack-jaw expression solemn underneath Ace's hollow-point smile.

"I've been prescribed a lot. Even a couple bottles of gin can't blind my mind." Ace fills in the blanks and he obsesses over his madness like a drug fiend. The session is cut short by the click of Julius' office door and Ace quickly pulls back to greet Julius' guest on cue.

"Miss Liddell, always a pleasure!" Ace's voice turns like tides and swells when the young woman enters the room with a mug of something warm and a pile of freshly peeled, and cut apples.

"Ace? I wasn't expecting to run into you. I didn't know you had an appointment with the doctor today." Alice met Ace a few weeks back, the rumor was that Ace slammed a door into her body on pure bad luck, something of an accident. Alice tilts her head to the two men and her lips flood a small smile. "If I've known – I would have prepared more apples and an extra mug of coffee."

Like a switch and a turn of a palm, Ace didn't flicker as crazy anymore. And Julius took this to great interest to the outcome. "No need, Alice. I've never been a big coffee drinker to begin with." With a free hand, Ace waved her off.

"Did – I come at a bad time?" Alice took in the environment of Julius' office that took a brunt of anarchy from Ace's outburst and comfort to cause mayhem.

"No? Why do you think that, Alice?" Ace's smile grew, his velvet eyes widening to the inquisitive glare of Alice. Alice took a step back and bumped against the doorframe in doing so, she felt Gray's hand touch her forearm and yanked her close.

"Something – the matter Alice?" Gray looked over her shoulder and his lips thinned under Ace's presences. "Julius?" Gray peeked from the side of the doorframe and waited for Julius to remark, to supply him with a command.

"I'm fine." Julius spoke and held no rule of anything rushed. Julius quickly changed the subject and the idea seemed so abstract to Alice and Gray. "What – are we having for dinner tonight, Alice?"

Gray's hand tightened on her arm and she quickly jerked from her fixation of trying to assemble an explanation to why Ace's smile reminded her of a crescent moon, or why Julius' office was held in disarray of scattered papers and bent spines from books, "Huh? Oh." And she bowed her head in a silent apology, "White soup tonight with veal stock, cream, almonds and rice. Or would rather have pease-soup?"

"I do not mind, Alice. Just – I'll talk to you later. Please attend Mister Ringmarc for the rest of the evening while I finish up with Ace."

"Yes, sir."

The door was pulled and footsteps receded down the hall, leaving Julius and Ace alone again. "Pretty little thing –"Ace turned his attention to Julius. "You seem fond of her, but I can never tell with you Julius." Ace chuckled again at the flat look Julius gave. "So you have no interest?"

"She is a patient. I am her doctor." Julius noted and he slowly arose from his chair and crossed the threshold of his office, stepping over mixed papers and books. He placed his clipboard onto his desk and tucked his glasses into one of his desk drawers.

"Doesn't mean you're not a man with needs. And you don't need to be so shy about it. Think about it – rolling about the office with that little miss –"

"- No. Now will you leave so I can clean up?" The conversation finally found its' deathbed.

-x-

"Alice, please come in." Julius called from his door and Alice slowly turned the knob, baring her gifts that she was going to give the first time – except the food was different.

"You're not going to push me out this time?" Alice grinned from the jarred door before wedging her foot through the crack to open the door fully. "Hm, sorry about the mix up. Nightmare ate the apples I sliced for your breakfast. So, will white soup be alright?" Alice crossed the now tidy floors' of the office and placed the coffee mug down next to the soup upon his desk.

"I apologize. Ace came in last minute." Julius eyed the meal before him, remembering he has yet to eat since this morning. "So, thank you."

Alice patted her hands on apron that Gray supplied her with. "No need to say sorry, doctor. It was rude for me not to knock in the first place." Alice let a nervous chuckle trigger and straightened her posture in doing so. Alice scouted the room before she had the decently to sit in the chair adjacent from Julius' work desk. "You – don't mind if I sit here?"

"Do what you must." Julius uttered, his spoon circling the contents of his soup, testing whatever he can see within the substance. Julius' other hand gripped the handle to his mug so he could taste whatever today's spoils brought in. "The coffee – tastes better today."

Alice quickly nodded, pride brimming her irises, "That's because I don't let Gray touch the coffee grains. It started off with Nightmare, but Nightmare hates the bitter taste and demanded cocoa. Then I remembered you enjoyed the taste." Her hands crossed over her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles like an adopted habit; a nervous tick for her idle hands.

"Something wise about not letting the Chef prepare a meal." Maybe Alice was seeing things but Julius caved and caressed a subtle smile from behind the rim of his mug. To Alice's response, she laughed along.

"And here we speak of irony again."

"Only something that should be addressed, Miss Liddell. The cook is useless and Nightmare, even more so." Julius placed the mug down and pushed his soup to the side so he could jot down a few notes and stacked the papers to one end of the desk to give him room.

"Not entirely true." Alice spoke and Julius gave her a blank look, "Alright, well Nightmare and Gray are not the best, but at least they try." Alice kept her simple smile and Julius fell back to his default thin-lipped one.

"Hence, the keyword is try." Alice and Julius continued on their chatter for an hour till they fell into a comfortable silence.

-x-

Alice was pushed through the current of rush hour, completely ripped from Nightmare's arm when they continued down the path of urban life and construction workers. "Nightmare!" Alice called out from the crowed, but the sea of people devoured her plea and there was too many people to pass by upstream. Alice came to the horrible notion that she would have to endure till she wasn't pushed anymore by the wave of people that dragged her farther and farther away from her destination.

"Hey, hey, girl. Keep movin'." A man piped up from underneath his hood, basically making a line for himself when he prevailed through the parted sea of people.

"I'm sorry!" Alice's elbow cut sharply into his ribs. "I'm lost! I really don't know where this crowd is going." She cried out desperately to the stranger with golden eyes; shadowed by his blasted hood.

"Lost is a horrible riddle, young lady." The man snickered and he grabbed hold on Alice's wrist, leaving her to gasp when she was violently tugged through the grumbling crowd. Alice didn't recognize this part of London, but the slums seemed worse than where the tower was located; drunken men lined the cobblestone sidewalks and merriment flooded the atmosphere. Women that bore fox furs barred their weight against their male companions, singing songs of foreign tales, raveling about their past.

"Let go!"

"You said you were lost! Don't mind me when I try to help a lady out!" This stranger that she'd just met from the crowd was leading her through the sunken night; Alice could taste salt water on the air and the distant sound of boats babbled. "I'm bringing you to a man that knows a thing or two about the hobby of being lost, just don't ask him about his fiddle."

Alice tried to jerk her arm away from the man, but the crowd finally dwindled and she was guided to a pub on the east-end ally of some god's forsaken place. "Lost as in –"

Alice was cut off by the stranger, "- Geez, Gowland didn't tell me a bootlegger would complain so much." The man banged on the door several times in the deep ally pub; Alice has never seen an abbey such as this. The door from the pub swung open and the man pushed her through the door to get her out of the flooded district of the ally. And that's when a song broke out, and women scattered up velvet steps, clashed and naked but laughing on the spot.

_What will we do with a drunken Sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? What will we do with a drunken sailor? Early in the morning! _

Voices swelled the establishment and the man from the crowd pushed her deeper within the building; her heels tugged into the carpet but did not succeed by the force that the man gave. Alice could smell strong drinks, and she gasped when the scantily clad women began to flock in her wake. "Oh! Look how cute this girl is! Alas, to be young again." One woman commented and Alice could feel the heat from her body rise. "You're right! Do speak up, child." Another woman beckoned her, but the stranger waved the women off.

"Alright, alright you bloody harpies. Show me where the ol' man is holing up. I kept my end of the bargain and damn was it hard."

_Way hay and up she rises. Way hay and up she rises. Way hay and up she rises. Early in the Morning! Put him in a long boat till his sober. Put him in a long boat till his sober. Put him in a long boat till his sober. Early in the morning! _

"Gowland?" The woman teased, and the women around her whispered in union; chirping their laughs.

"Yes, the ol' man. He knows I earned my damned rations for this month." The stranger kept a firm hand on Alice's shoulder, pulling her back every time a woman drew near to study her. One woman whispered into another's ear and they all nodded their heads.

"Are you daft, dear boy? Or possibly deaf? The man is raising Cain down in his little hub with the sailors that delivered the shipment of wine. I would believe you could hear his singing down the stairs." The women all grinned; fingers toying with garter belts and thigh-highs.

"Damn." The stranger muttered and guided Alice down the flight of stairs.

Alice tried her best to reason with the man, but her voice was lost in the rabble of brawling and shouts that echoed off counter tops; slick with sweat and alcohol. The bar was filled in multiple violinists from different patrons, women lay upon tabletops where men gushed and laughed at. Alice jumped to the shatter of glass from one end, then an eruption of hardy laughs joined in.

"Hey, ol' man! I did your damn job with no shiv in the back. Whoever this little woman you said to be, put up no fight." The man from behind shoved Alice into the great chest of a man decked in bright yellow; his taste was tacky and he smelled thick of wine and ash.

"Because that's not the girl, you bloody thief."

"What are ye' talking about, ol' man. She said the riddle. It's her." The man pulled down his hood and revealed the bright glare of his yellowed eyes and the oddity of his circus color pink hair; it looked like he ran pen ink and combed it over.

"That so?" The man in the yellow jacket patted Alice on the shoulder, "Well it's nice to finally meet ya' lassie! The name is Gowland, after all."

"Mister Gowland –"Alice began but she was interrupted by a pint shoved in her hands, her fingers curled about the mug in hopeless and tragic confusion on how her day ended. She'll never leave the tower with Nightmare again, and curse herself if she ever does!

"Gowland, lassie. I go by Gowland." The older gent bellowed loudly and help up his pint to click against hers, downing his drink. He's humming that slurred sailor tune.

"Gowland, my name is Alice Liddell and I believe we've reached a matter of confusion upon identity." Alice looked to the kind-faced man then to the thief. "I didn't even answer this riddle! I didn't even know about this riddle!"

"But you answered." Marked the thief with a sly grin that showed all his teeth, his arms crossing over his chest. "You said, 'I'm lost' and it led to clear indication that you are our bootlegger that runs the joint from Whitechapel to Winchester. You're a lot prettier then what I'd imaged ye' be. Normally bootlegger women, well the ones I know, aren't as fair."

"Ain't that the bloody truth, boy?" Gowland muttered behind the rim of his mug, then plotted it onto the counter he leaned against.

"The name is Boris Airay. Need a man with a pinchin' for kleptomania? I'm your man and at your service, Miss Liddell." Boris mocked by bowing with a hand tucked under his chest.

"You both are very kind, but I am not this bootlegger you mentioned. I truly was lost – lost my way from the tower."

"Lost? Then I'm assumin' you're not from London after all?" Gowland eyed Boris, and Boris shrugged.

"No, sir." Alice complied meekly and both men fell silent.

"Gods be damned, Boris!" Gowland finally snapped. And both men argued overhead Alice, who quietly moved back and bumped into a patron at the bar.

"Alice…Alice?!" Alice quickly turned around to the familiar sensation of an all, too happy man. It was Elliot March, the seamstress at Hatters, that held a glass to her and he was accompanied by a man a few inches shorter than his original height. "Well, I'll be damned, Miss Liddell. Never taken you much as a drinker."

"Because I'm not!" Alice cried out.

-x-

**A/N: So far, we have: **

**Elliot March: A seamstress at a shop called Hatters; Blood's business partner.**

**Blood Dupre: (Introduced at the very end, and mentioned in the last chapter) He owns both Hatters and a flower shop down the street. (He also has another business that will be described in the next chapter.)**

**Nightmare: City doctor/Tower nurse. **

**Gray Ringmarc: A cook that has no business in the kitchen. (He also has an old job in France that he doesn't like to discuss, not yet.) He's a close friend to Alice during this.**

**Mary Gowland: Pub Owner, bootlegger, weapons dealer. **

**Boris Airay: Cat burglar. (Not a cat-man!) He does enjoy the company of cats, in which Gowland complain about. **

**Ace: A mad man that can't be trusted, but Julius keeps him around because he feels entitled to help. **

**Julius Monrey: Therapist. (Naturally) A shy man that is mistaken being rude. **

**Vivaldi: She will be described in coming chapters. Blood's sister. A strong woman that can't stand the pressure of a male's society. Blood cares for his sister deeply and begs her to move back with him. (Vivaldi knows what kind of business Blood runs and refuses; later described in next chapter or so.)**

**More to come! **

**I wonder how dear Julius will react when he finds out Alice is missing. And what's the problem with Alice's mind sickness? Which – will be explained at the end of this fic… **


	4. Chapter 4

**The Painted Woman**

_February 13, 1865: (Personal Log: 5:45 PM) I've sent Gray out; he's a natural in tracking out lost ones, but with no prevail, nor any sign of blue eyes. Alice is bright enough to know London's basic landscape and her mentality was not in extreme illusion – not like the other patients that I have lost due to the same note of being lost in a crowd or running away. Alice would have returned by now. She was no simpleton and would have asked for directions. Not if – that said person she asked directions from was a vile being. _

_I have no need to talk to Nightmare. He was the cause for all this; unneeded attention. But it was my fault for authorizing approval to let Alice wonder off with Nightmare while he finished a few errands around town. Though, I can't help myself from loathing the man that lost my patient. _

_Alice will come back and all will be well. Time to set aside my pride and call in the authorities. _

Peter White covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief when the town doctor, Nightmare, approached his space. Peter took a step back, holding his palm flat against his face to pin the cloth close and over his breathing passages. With Peter's free hand he shooed Nightmare away, "Stay back. Behind the line. I've been called out for investigation – not to be breathed on."

Peter White sure had something to say, considering he grew up in the slums and achieved to head-of-police status. Rumors always speculated and colored his past in infamous details. A man that choked out his own brother. A man that placed a single iron bullet between the eyes of his own father; the man that contributed to giving him life. Either way, Officer White was not a man to trifle with. If you considered so, you'd be a bloody fool. His expression fell between the lines of stoic, being dubbed fair, his personality did not matchup.

His velvet eyes narrowed towards the sickly doctor. "Then will you hurry and file our report!? Alice is alone as we speak and any sign of her has been bleak." Nightmare was frantic and paced closer to the officer who took a whole step back.

Peter White was feeling trigger-happy and the idea of slowly pulling out his gun from the holster seemed too pleasant. The idea was disbanded when the tower's therapist, Julius Monrey, descended the stairs of one of the far end rooms that was located in the back of the tower. "Here." Julius muttered and held out a ribbon; blue, silken, and drenched in the scent of smothered roses and apples.

Peter nodded his head to one of his colleagues and the man did not question to take the satin ribbon from the Doctor's hand. "Alice has several of these types of ribbons. All the same color. All the same embroidery style."

Officer Peter White cringed at the man, then his face fell back into subtle frown. "You say this woman – she's mentally ill?"

"To a certain degree. She suffers from a selected memory and falls in line with incredibly naïve. Alice is not entirely there, Mister White." Julius crossed his arms to contemplate his wording. He pondered upon the intentions of humankind. "She's a silly heart. A dreamer. She can't tell the difference between reality and illusion. Miss Liddell, must be brought back and I won't settle for anything less." Nightmare stiffened when Julius' eyes lingered to his path and silently blamed him with his clouded eyes.

Something peculiar broke the lines upon Peter's lips; a smile. Nothing comforting resulted from this smile. Peter reached inside his coat pocket to withdraw a pen and a shabby notepad that's been bent from folding and refolding. "State her full name, Doctor Monrey. Her age, and a brief description."

Julius agreed and nodded his head, "Alice Pleasance Liddell. She claims to be nineteen, but is actually twenty-three; she's stuck in a state of mind over tragic events that unfolded in her late teens. In response, before she felt pain, she stuck to the age that made her the happiest. Her mind triggers to this, she believes – certain things." The Doctor cleared his throat and waited for Peter to write down the bit of information he gave. "She's five-foot, dirty-blond hair that extends to her waist, blue-eyes, complexion is fair toned, and the last thing she was wearing was a blue dress and black Mary-Janes – along with the ribbon she always wears on top of her head."

Officer Peter White looked up from his sketchpad, sneering, "You know the probability of finding this woman, a mentally ill woman, in the streets of London is fairly rare. Finding her will be problematic. Falling into London's social delights of human trafficking would not surprise me. Who's to say she wasn't purposely pulled from the streets?" Peter folded over his sketchpad and placed his pen and paper back into his coat pocket.

Julius didn't say anything, but instead narrowed his eyes to every crucial detail that draped from the officer's lips. "Even so –"Peter sighed with a mocking smile, "I will instruct Night Watch to be on a look out for this Miss Liddell. Just don't be surprised when this girl never shows up, or found with a shiv in her neck and gutted." Peter shrugged at that statement, like it was nothing, "I've seen it time and time again. Besides, things happen for a reason, and it's better to clean up our problem with the mentally insane, the ones that cannot function outside walls."

Just when Peter was rounding his men, Julius confronted him with, "You know, Officer, Mysophobia is also a mental sickness; the fear of germs. Perhaps you should stick to your own advice, you know, a shiv in the neck. Gutted like a fish. If you showed a little sympathy for the mad, perhaps I'd be able to pity you." The Officer glowered and turned on his militarized issued boots.

The Officer ignored Julius, "Scout and round the Metropolitan. I'm sick of slumming it on these streets with this lot."

Both men walked to opposite directions; Nightmare straightened his form.

-x-

"Miss Liddell, the pleasure is mine." Blood Dupre, Elliot's boss and the man accompanying him for the evening held out his hand for her. Hesitant, Alice accepted and he placed a sole kiss upon the delicate flesh of her knuckle. "Elliot has told me about you. The girl that lives with the therapist in Clover Tower, I say, you wouldn't happen to know a Vivaldi Dupre?"

Alice politely smiled at the older man, who slowly dropped her hand from his. "I do, indeed! She is a good friend of mine, along with Mister Ringmarc, who'd typically accompany us on outings – though not today as you can tell. Finding that I'm mildly lost."

"A friend to you, and a sister of mine." Blood stated and Alice's eyes widened, "No matter, Miss. Elliot and I will have no problem returning you to Mister Monrey. You must've been horrified to have – the common crowd carry you off."

Boris grumbled in the background, his head placed upon the bar counter and a pint lingered in his grasp. "My mistake is that my rations will be deducted by the ol' man, and that I have to go back out and find this lady with the riddle of 'lost'. Beer doesn't supply itself."

"Don't be blaming the lass for your misfortune. You screwed up royally now ye gotta fix it, bloody thief." Gowland knocked the drink from Boris' hand to take it as his own, downing the piss-poor beer that's been mixed with river water. Gowland's expression twisted and he yanked the mug from his lips, "The hell –"

Boris grinned, "Just a little parting gift on my own, ol' man, before I head up the flood district to find our bootlegger." Boris mocked a salute to Alice and he crossed the room that poured with men and women that draped over their last fill. Gowland was ready to pull his beloved pistol from the holster that's been strapped with care and decked in lovely leather, but his eccentric mind fluttered over to the female that stared at him with inquisitive taste. Not her. Not now. Just drown the thief in the flooded district later, let the Metropolitan Police drag his bloated corpse from lapping waters; he never would though. Secretly, that boy was like a son.

"I say," Blood started. A smile kissed against his define features, "growing soft on us, Mary? Just last week I seen you hold one of your patrons' head down in one of your supply barrels. But, you? Reluctant to hold a barrel and feel a bullet release."

"Mary?" Alice whispered and Elliot leaned in low enough to whisper in her ear; feeling his intoxicated breath against her skin.

"First name. Gowland rather go with ser. No pride in a pub owner that holds a lady name. A beautiful name, of course." Elliot snickered and Alice watched the way that Gowland's body tensed and his jaw clenched into place.

"Why the name Mary? Wouldn't that be the mother's fault?" Alice's cracked a grin and Elliot shrugged his broad shoulders; matching up with her bemusing smile.

"His mother was a prostitute that walked the stretch of road across Whitechapel. Rumor was, that his dad was the minister, had a little too much fun with the girl. Story goes, the minister denied that baby boy. Didn't want to look bad for his sermons. No one wants to learn the gospel from a man that can't keep his hand out of his own pants." Elliot leaned into the counter and Alice situated herself on the barstool next to Elliot; he took a swallow from his reserves.

"But that doesn't explain why his name is Mary." Alice tiled her head and Elliot grinned harder from behind his drink.

"Don't know, actually. Just assumed you wanted me to bend your ear to Flooded District rumor. Always a fun story to tell." Elliot chuckled warmly from his chest, pulling the mug from his mouth. "That goes to say, why does any mother name their own child the opposite sex of the name? Me? Hell, I was named after my old man. Perhaps Gowland's mother wished for a daughter. Who knows?"

Alice shakes her head at that, "Nonsense. You are a strange man, Mister March. And a bit nosey." Still, Elliot found humor in Alice's tone and he let out another chuckle.

"Guess that's part of the business."

"Being a seamstress has you poking in the lives of patrons?"

"No." Eliot's laughter falters and a smile lingers. "You certainly do not get out much to know the business of Hatters."

"Hatters are men that alter attire and repair hats." Alice notes drolly, nonetheless, Elliot enlightens her upon his business ethic and tells her a little more history of what prowls London nights.

Elliot points to his boss; still distracted in jesting the pub owner, who looked to be on his last leg. "Blood Dupre owns Hatters and the local flower shop two blocks down. Honest enough work, for dishonest men."

Alice narrow her eyes at the man, "Which doesn't explain –"

"- I've worked with Mister Dupre for an entire decade. Seen a lot of crazy stuff. Stuff that I shouldn't recall. Have you ever had to mop up blood with a shirt before, Miss Liddell?" Alice's eyes widen and she swallows all the oxygen she can. This man, Elliot March, was a baffling fellow. A degree mad. A dabbling man that sticks to whatever business he can. "It's not all bad, Miss Liddell. These girls around us, the ones that hang over all these sailors, are from Blood Dupre, truly. He takes in a lot of girls with no profit. Bastard daughters and extra mouths that can't be fed. So, instead of being sent to a factory to work the mills, they cling to Mister Dupre." Elliot looks down into his mug, a troubled sigh was created by sucking down the last drop.

"Prostitutes. You and your boss, solicit these women out?!" Alice was appalled by the subtle nature of Elliot and he raised a brow to her volume change; her pretty lips thinning.

"No! Of course not, silly girl. They choose to do so on their own. It's more of a charity than a sex drive. Blood supplies these women with education, a roof over their head, and care for these women and their offspring." Elliot cleared his throat and motioned his hand down the counter to catch the attention of a bartender to tap him out.

"I see." Alice is silent for a long time. She was such a sheltered child growing up in Oxford, her social standards leveled that of an old biddy. "Since – you've given me the full detail, I can find something noble in your line of work – besides the story of mopping blood with a shirt."

"And all you had to do was get me a little drunk for me to spill my life story." Elliot raised a mug to Alice. "Now let me tell you about this one time –"

"- Ugh."

-x-

"Poetry from Bloody brother, thee!" A man stood out from the rest, parking his shoes upon the counter of the establishment. A hand raised into the air to catch the patrons' fancy, leaving the crowd silent then erupted into applause. Elliot was cut from his tale and he elbowed Alice to catch her attention, again.

Another man followed this man to stand up on Gowland's counter, this one knocked over several glasses that were filled to the brim, but wasted. "Poetry from a counterpart, thee!" The men looked alike, deathly alike. They were twins that shared the burdened defect of stunning eyes of scornful-blue and crimson.

And so the poetry began, and it surprised Alice when the man with blue eyes preached, "O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady kneel, the vessel grim and daring. But O heart! Heart! Heart! O the bleeding drops of red. Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead!"

The sailors yelled and rabble jingled the counters, glasses clicked when the other brother stepped near; pacing the bar tops. This brother's voice was just as powerful, tinged in slurred words. "O Captain! My Captain!" The man yelled, arms spread wide while the other brother grinned in approval, "Rise up and hear the bells! Rise up – for you the flag is flung – for you the bugle trills. For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths – for you the shores a-crowding. For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. O captain! Dear father! This arm beneath your head; it is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead."

Elliot's lips thinned and he shook his head, muttering, "Typical."

"My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still." The man in blue prides and his brother finishes, "My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; the ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; from fearful trip, the victor ship, come in with object won."

"Exult!" And the sailors linger upon every slurred word, every beautiful lullaby that comes from a poem, that Alice has never dreamed upon, beauty was defined in a parting poem; a silken divine. Even Blood and Gowland set aside their tantrum to watch the two twins express their play on words, "O shares, and ring, O bells! But I, with mournful tread, walk the deck my captain lies, fallen cold and dead."

Silence plagues the air and festers, till it is Alice with mournful eyes that stands in attention to clap her hands. The twins take notice and smile in her direction and she shows gratitude by smiling back. The rest of the bar follows suit and cheering floods the bar. Even Elliot, doubtful of these random men, clapped in their praise. "Did we do good, boss?!" The man in crimson yells and echoes upon the flats of counter.

Blood simply nods and smirks, shaking his head at the men that scatter down the bar counters to knock Elliot's drink from his hands. "Bloody hell, you blooming brats! I should –"

Elliot's voice is drowned out, his cursing took an uneven turn and Alice couldn't help to grin from Elliot's desperate change from sweet to aberrant. One twin leaned down from the counter to match Alice's gaze, "Aye, aye pretty lady ashore, brother!"

"All hands on deck! Permission to dock the girly seamstress' boat." The other twin barked with laughter.

"Permission granted, brother! Fair seas as far as I can see!" The brother looked to his other, but Elliot jerked one twin down from the countertop.

"Just because you bloody twats can speak the king's speech, does not excuse you to talk to a woman like that." While one twin was being pulled, the other came to the rescue of his brother, gripping the other side of his black suit.

The man that was being pulled down, the one lathered in ocean blue, spoke in the anarchy of it, "The name is Dee! Nice to meet you."

"I'm Dum! The more defined twin. Pay no heed to the seamstress or my brother. They are bit of a lavender." Crimson eyes stared, and he mused in trying to reclaim his brother from Elliot's hands.

"Define my ass. Mum told me she dropped you on your head, she only called ye' pretty cause the whole damn lot felt bad for you. We both know that I came out punctual, more relatable then a man who still begs me to read him to sleep." Dee Noted. "Your name is a play on words, Dum. _Dumbass._"

"I'll bloody murder you! You blooming wildflower!" Dum jerked Dee back from Elliot and the two rallied off the side of the counter.

"I'll murder you both! Here, let me drown you in the back with the barrels!" Elliot added, fawning over to crawl over the countertop.

A random patron yelled from the corner of the bar, "Bar fight! Throw out your cards, gents!"

"Someone grab Miss Liddell, God, save the Queen!" Gowland groaned, slumping over with Blood to gather Alice.

Did Alice fall into the brink of hell? "Aye, boss. Found the lass that's been threatin' my life since I snatched her from the flooded district. Found our bootlegger! Huh?" Boris called from the cutting-room ledge, gripping said woman by the hand.

Yep, Alice believed in hell.

-x-

"I understand you're mad, but you not saying anything bothers me the most." Nightmare breeches the silences that stains Julius' office. Julius glares up from paperwork that littered the flat tops of his desk, narrowing his eyes behind his reading glasses.

"What is there to say? What is there to do? I do not condone your idiocy, but must endure." Julius voice is dry, he shifts his attention back to thumbing through documents, prying through expenses that he would later ask Gray about.

"As a therapist. Another man of science – you have to admit your attitude is rather mild for someone who lost a patient – a friend perhaps?" Nightmare leans against the doorframe, arms crossed about his chest; he dares not to enter fully into the office; it felt like crossing territories in the ill-circulated room.

"Alice is not a friend. As her doctor, a man that swore to her father to protect her, it is my duty to worry about her. Now if you'll do me the favor and leave. I've been requested to write a full report to Blood Dupre on his sister's progress."

"I don't know if I can accept that answer, Julius." Nightmare actually grows a backbone, he actually considers his limits when he eyes his' colleague with upmost distress. "No. Unbelievable. I've watched you these ten years. I was there when you graduated from the academy. You. Do. Not. Befriend." Julius continues to ignore, scribbling away blindly at his work. "I've never seen you spend time with a patient besides sessions. You've welcomed Miss Liddell into your office for small talk. You're a foolish man if you think otherwise."

"Foolish is adopting the figment to carry on a relationship with a patient when you know that they will leave. They teach you not to befriend in the academy. Did your department not teach you the same thing?" Julius gifts him a second glance, but it's more out of annoyance. "Or perhaps you feel guilty that I'm not reacting to this as bad as the cook and you?"

Nightmare clenched his fist, "To a certain degree. I wished that you showed emotion instead of deflecting it with your physiology."

Julius waited. Sitting back in his chair for the moment to slowly remove his glasses, unfolding it and placing it on top of a stack of worksheets that had little care. Julius stood up tall and calmly. Pacing the threshold of his office, a shadow down casted from his height when he stepped closer to Nightmare; his form retorting to meek nature.

It happened so fast, Julius yanked Nightmare into the office and shoved him against the frame of his oak-wood door. The force was blunt, brutal, and the glass from door vibrated from the sudden shove. Nightmare cowered and held his breath, waiting, watching for Julius to speak; his round fingers curled into the fine fabric of Nightmare's dress-jacket. "You." Julius voice rolled deep and beckoned, smothered in the falsehood of something calm. "You lost her. I entrusted you with her safety and you lost her." Julius gave Nightmare another jerk. "Are you bloody happy? Are you damned pleased that I'm actually fearful of the outcome of this? Alice could have fallen into wrong hands and the likelihood without her return, so far, is looking damn believable." Julius' voice stayed leveled, calm, and assembled in imperfect intentions. "Ach, mein Gott." Julius murmured finally. "What that bloody policeman said –"Julius' fingers loosened from the silken seams and Nightmare slowly slid against the solid surface of the door.

"Are you pleased? Are you pleased that you finally got a rise out of me? And all it took was ten years of you bothering me." Julius paced back to his desk, and all that Nightmare could do was sadly smile.

-x-

_Dearest Lorina,_

_I wish that you would answer my letters. Give me any bit of sign that you are not upset with me – for belittling the family. Whatever that I have done, I apologies. It has been over a month since we have last spoken. Your smiling face has not left my mind since then, dearest sister. _

_Perhaps, and forgive me in saying this, that father has turned you against me? It wouldn't surprise me that he's forgotten me. I wouldn't blame him with the stuff that I say. When I'm around Clover Tower, they make me feel like my voice is not just from a "woman" but from a woman named "Alice" The friends that I've made within these walls, my second home, has taught me to raise my voice and to tell my foolish tales and spinning webs. _

_I just – wish that you and father could see that. I just wished I had family within the confines of this solid stone structure. _

_-Alice _

**The Bloody Twins: Work for Blood in the Hatters shop. (Like little workers that help people try on coats, etc.) Instead of working in the mill, they sought out Blood Dupre for employment. **

**Peter White: Head of Police of the Metropolitan. Dabbles in politics. His character will show in later chapters, so don't discourage him yet!**

****Blood Dupre: (Update) you figure out that Blood Dupre takes in stray women. He's still an ass, just not a womanizer. He cares for women, but he doesn't stop them from doing what they want to do.**

**Ach, mein Gott: (German/Deutsche) Translation – "Oh, my God." **

**O Captain! My Captain!: A poem written by Walt Whitman in 1865.** **The poem was written in the memory of someone and in honor of Abraham Lincoln. **

****Lavender: The term lavender was used to describe a man/women who had interest for those of the same sex. So Dum was basically calling Dee and Elliot "girly" or "homosexual" It just depends on how you see fit. **


	5. Chapter 5

**The Painted Woman**

_February 14, 1865: (Patient log: Ace [Last name unknown]): Ace has refused his scheduled appointment, but the post did come at the crack of dawn upon Ace's request. They handed me a letter, crumbled, and hastily written. The letter surprised me, Ace has always told me he was illiterate; unable to grasp the concept of reading and writing. He must have had paid someone to write this letter out._

_The letter contained nonsense. Babbles of a madman and his excuses for not showing up. Though, he talked about finding Alice. That he had contacts directly to the Flooded District and human trafficking. I'm greatly troubled by this bit of information. How did Ace know Alice was missing when he wasn't here to hear that she disappeared, nor conversed with any of the staff? _

They're held in the basement, the bowels of the house that rattle by the steam-stacked iron rods; connecting like arteries about the factory, and just like the buildings' workers, it is built strong and formidable. They know the true horrors of dashing crimson and gnawing teeth of laughter that question their motive in life, and when answered, their life is questioned some more. These questions are gentle, but not the man who asks these inquisitive thoughts.

"Aye, and did you have a Pa? And what was Scotland like before you migrated down?" Ace inquires and he leans into the vacant face of a woman. Her irises lost their luster, and the blood runs down her shoulders like tendrils, dripping from her fingertips that stain the concrete floors below her. The heart underneath the floor of her chest has stopped beating its' life drum two hours ago. "Huh? I didn't quite get that? Speak up, love. Don't be shy – I won't hurt you." Ace grins and he leans closer into the snow-pale complexion of her face.

Ace pulls back and cringes, his handsome features flickering against the orange glow of his scattered candles that decorate and clash against the gore; the blood illuminates brighter and richer as the flame dances on its' wick. "How rude. Justly so, that you left before we could finish our enlightening conversation. I was almost growing fond of you. Too bad that your name never left your lips, it must have sounded pretty." Ace circles the body that's held up like a pendulum, gloved hands turning the body to follow his trail as he delves through his collection of bodies. His free hand holds out a candle, which lights his way through the dark-smitten basement, untouched within the last twenty years; only by his hands alone that broke the cycle.

"A sly bunch. Notoriously so, I've dealt with your kind. All of you." Ace mumbles to himself, though the conversation was implied to the litter of bodies that dangle high above ceilings; these people are penetrated by the curve of a meat hook, the same ones that are used for display in the butchers' shop down the alley and across the block. "And all I've met, all I've grown fond for – have left me equally so. But not any of you. Not that I would allow you, none of you."

Ace's boyish charm is tainted and he smiles into oblivion, mocking death by claiming his position; exchanging roles between mortal and entity. "I'll hide you all within these tombs, behind cobblestones and cart you all as my displays; beautiful canvases that shalt not go to waste. All of your eyes painted in the glass, your faces turned to masks and praised among the walls." Ace tucks between the hanging bodies, talking to them one by one, muttering his loving confessions to a group of strangers that hang cold and dead; post-mortem lulling their flesh. "I just hope none of you grow jealous when I offer a new addition. Though, I fell that you will love her the same. Just as –"Ace gives a small chuckle, his hand ghosting over his heart, his voice dropping an octave that echoes against these catacombs, "I've grown fond of her."

Ace would then laugh. A terrible, wicked laugh that curls and falters against the walls that bared his art forms. The beautiful creation of man and its' demise. Sometimes, Ace will run his gloved fingers down the cascade of freshly soaked blood. Morbidly, he fell in love. Grimly, he danced with fate.

The most beautiful tragedy he dared to kiss and to taste.

-x-

Someday life will devour all the lights in the sky, and Alice longed for that end when she sat to one end of the table, watching the men converse over a simple card game of Black Jack. A terrible notion of bribes, then resulted in changing minds with drinks or by the end of the blade. These men, these dangerous fellows have shown her nothing but kindness. Still – their intentions could be questioned and weighted in on how honest their jobs were. Apparently, everyone sitting at the table, besides Alice, has killed a man and left the sea to devour the mystery of body.

Blood Dupre's eyes lingered her way, and Alice smiled politely from the other end of the table. It was a long pause till he nodded his head in acknowledgement and went on with the conversation he held with Elliot – something about old ties and schoolyard rabbles from his youth. He is driven by obsession, like a madness. Still, this man lingers upon the cigar and settles calm, and waiting for a slide of hand. "Is your head as hollow as your gun barrel, Mary? You owe me four shillings and a drink." He speaks of audacities, he yearns to taunt, but he shows kindness it other areas that baffle Alice to no end. Could he really be trusted?

Alice's fingers twiddle with the hem of her dress, watching how the game panned out between pub owner and the florist, that let's on more than what he does. Mary Gowland, by rumor of Elliot March, was raised by whores and knowingly so had a father that was a backwater preacher,that had a fancy for prostitutes. If ever in doubt, which is often, he uses a shiv or a single bullet. His foundation and the landscapes of the Flooded District was his idea, and he's made a fortune on it; instead of squandering his assets of petty possessions, he's been known to donate to Blood's little fund for the prostitutes that wished for better education for their selves and for their children. Still, this never cleared murky water with Gowland and Blood, their arguments always ending with Blood haunting Gowland over a misplaced name and a bottle of rum.

Gowland's establishment has stood for five years, Alice learned from simple conversation with Gowland about the pub's history. The brothels sprang up around the distilleries fast, these businesses always seemed inseparable. For the longest time, Alice smiled rather dumbly to herself, and wondered about what her father would think if she happened to befriend the men she keeps as company now. Oh, how that bloody man would yell and bellow, then mourn and blame that she was an even bigger shame to the family. A sham that should have never been born and walked the solid surface of turning Earth. The more Alice thought about this, the more she simply didn't care.

"Put the gun away, ol' man. We all know you love Blood too much to place a bullet in his head." Boris snickered behind the shield of his cards, his voice muffled. This thief, the one with the perfect smile and tempting eyes, sneered when Gowland pushed him off the barstool in a rush. With much haste, the thief climbed up the barstool to take his rightful place, "Hey! You should know when I joke, ol' man. Damn – now look at you embarrassing me in front of our new friend." Sarcasm dripped, and Boris grinned harder when he reclaimed his deck.

"Keep it up, thief, you'll be head-high in the ocean." Men will banter and they talk of gossip like bickering nuns; regardless of occupation.

"And you assume I'd fancy a roll with Gowland? I'm actually appalled, no I'm offended, that you'd question my taste – if I was a bit of a lavender – it would not be with a man, who takes fashion advice from fruit." Blood murmur behind the cloud of his cigar, flicking the embers into the ashtray. Gowland swallowed hard and took a shot from his pint.

"I do not need to picture me and you snuggled close to a fireplace, Dupre. No – if I was desperate enough the good ol' right-hand comes in handy." Gowland went on with a cheap grin, and Boris' face cringed in utter disgust and faked a heave.

"You say this with pride, pub owner –"Dee questioned, and Dum finished his brother's sentence, "Brother, he states so, because that's the only action he ever receives. And how goes a committed relationship that's lasted thirty-five years?" And both the twins snicker, leaving Elliot to shake his head.

"Would it be too much to imply language barriers when we have a new lady friend joining our game?" Elliot notes and Alice waves it off.

"It does not bother me. It was my fault for intruding your game." Alice smiles and she picks up her own hand of cards, staring at a Queen of Spades and an _Ace of Hearts._

"Not your fault, no – it'd be the thief that can't recognize a riddle between a desperate plea for help." Blood gestures Gowland for another hit and the man slides a card his way. "Not that we don't mind having you as company." Blood's smile was tired, huffing out the smoke that lingers across the dealing table. The cigar enriched with the smell of pine; a smothered musk.

Alice becomes bold and shows her hand when the game is done, "Then you must not mind me taking all your money?" Her hand revealed the odd number of twenty-one. This exchanged left Blood reeling for a laugh, a rare one at best.

-x-

There are certain nights that even Julius Monrey can't work. These are the nights that trouble him the most. A stoic figure, a bitter retreat to his mind when he leaned back into the leather of his office chair; folding his hands over his lap when he stared up at the fine trim of his ceiling. Sometimes he welcomes the land of mystery, sometimes he blocks the path from his mind; his turning waterwheel mind.

He'd think back on his mother; beautiful and resourceful even in the muck of Prussia. She was the one who taught him to read, blinding him with sweets and sea tales from where her father was a Captain from a distant land, of some foreign blind sighted country. He'd remember asking his dear mother, what she did for a living. His mother smiled and patted his head, rousing the hair that touched his shoulders, telling him, that her job consisted of a secret. A doleful secret, which little boys should not know of yet.

Julius has only met his father once or twice, once when he was only a lad that decided to play near the pier. Julius wouldn't have known it was his father, if his mother never pointed it out. The man fared well, lined in gold and material as black as crow feathers. His eyes a light shade of blue, his hair darker than night and pulled back by a gold ribbon. He was a doctor, a traveling therapist that wished to diagnose people village from village; he's traveled by boat and by cart.

"Heinrich Monrey," his mother spoke meekly, but her lips were lined with wisdom and outstanding poise. "It has been far too long." His mother held his hand, thumbing longingly over the flesh of his knuckles. The man was quiet for a while, till his eyes lingered to Julius, who held his breath over the stranger.

"I assume he is mine?" His father spoke, his voice dropping cold but yet curious to his mother. She'd smile, of course, that was her nature.

"Aye," His mother nodded with pride, trailing Julius along in front of her to present him, "He's taken to your last name and by appearance." His mother chuckled warmly even if his father showed no direction to emotion, "Though, I wished he adapted to my mother's ash hair." His mother spoke, dreamily touching her son's long hair.

"Impossible, woman. Considering Gregor Mendel theory, of course he would achieve my domineering traits." His father spoke harshly to his mother and paced before a young Julius, narrowing his eyes down at the boy who bit back the same look of disapproval on how he spoke to his mother. "I will accept that. I will accept he is my son. So, Hanna, how much do you want? You wish for me to pay the boy's way, correct? It's the only reason you came to the pier?"

Julius' mother shook her head, "No. I only heard by village rumor that a Mister Monrey would be traveling through – I just assumed you wanted to meet your son."

"And now that I have, I can be on my way now." Heinrich nodded his head to her, "Nice to meet you –"

"- Julius." His mother sadly answered, pulling her son back, comforting him by trailing her fingertips against his shoulders.

Ever since the first encounter, it plagued Julius with something raw; hatred. The very idea that he mirrored his father by looks, angered him. He promised himself that he would never fall between the lines of his father. He would never be rude, always show kindness to a world of lawlessness and bitter human resentment.

Things change by calendar, and promises were not always kept dear to the heart. Julius was ten, standing by the side of his mother's bed, grasping her hand as he knelt. "Momma." Julius spoke softly, and her eyes fluttered her deep hue of blue by his voice. Her skin was slick, not as rosy as normal; she has lost her luster, but not her beauty. Her golden curl haloed her head, too weak to sit up from her bed. "Momma, how are you feeling today? Do you want me to bring you another glass of water, perhaps?" He was simply helpless, and he told on multiple occasions not to sneak into his mother's room by doctors; they feared he would fall into the same infectious disease his mother was stricken with.

"Little, one. Mother is fine." She spoke softly, but hesitant by her drawling breaths; it felt like a ton of bricks made a home upon her breast. It hurt far too much to speak, even to breathe at this matter. Sweat pooled from her forehead, and Julius took it upon himself to dab away the sweat with his coat sleeve; trailing fingertips down her sunken jaw and small-silvered lips.

Julius' mother died, and her spirit followed the dawn. Julius changed, something in his reason stilled when tuberculosis robbed him of his mother. All he remembered, when his mother was placed in a wicker coffin, was that people whispered. These people pointed, using the term "bastard" or "whore".

People are evil. They crowed the Earth and Julius wished they would all die. That faired face boy stopped showing his mocking-bird grin, his dazzling blue eyes, that he'd like to believe he received on his mother's side, lost its' meaning and resulted like oceans; greedy and merciless.

That was when Julius met his father for the second time. He was gifted rumor that the boy that he met five years prior was now motherless, and he sent for the boy by carriage. "You are to live in London, boy. It's different from the countryside, but I believe you'll grow accustomed to it." His father spoke to him on the adjacent end of his cart, and Julius responded with nothing but a tilt of the head.

"My own father lives in London. Owns a tower devoted in the rehabilitation of the mentally ill. There, you will continue on your studies and grow up as a normal boy. I suppose." Heinrich shrugged his shoulders, fiddling with the reigns of the horses that dragged the carriage over the hill. Julius didn't want to linger on the thought, and he decided not to pay attention to the man.

Heinrich took on a different appearance. Julius vaguely remembered, but he remembered that his father's hair was long and touched to the lower section of his back, tied with that same golden ribbon. Now, his hair was cut below his shoulder blades and stricken with gray hairs that peeked from the dark hair. He was still lined in fine clothing, his eyes just as bleak as they were; unmoving, unchanging, and unforgiving of whatever peeked his interest.

Julius father left again, for good this time around. Heinrich entrusted his own father in taking care of Julius; his father the exact polar opposite of his own son. This man was kind, patient when Julius didn't finish his studies or didn't use the proper context of British literature. "Listen well, son." The senior Monrey smiled, dipping his pen into the ink, "All things may be vile. All things may fall and crumble. But when destruction is about, nature is soon to prevail and reclaim this land." Julius thought hard, deciphering his own language with that of King's English.

"I mean, son, humans can destroy. And we do. But there are good ones out there. Beautiful figures. I felt the same way with my late wife. When I first began my studies into this field, I hated everyone. I used logic over appeal. But this little wife I had, the most beautiful creature to ever grace my path, showed me I was wrong and I've been entitled to her since then. Even after death I can still hear her words of encouragement."

"Then why does my father show such – bitterness?" Julius inquired and the old man smiled down at him.

"I do wonder that myself. I think after his own mother died, he has showed no such respect."

"Did he not love my mother?" Julius' eyes went wide, vastly absorbed in curious notions.

"I never thought my child would be understanding of love. And I wish not to speak badly in front of my grandson about his father. I – do not know." The senior Monrey tapped his pen against his own study, "But I'll tell you a secret, son, a beautiful one. A treasured one." The old man's eyes twinkled and it caused Julius to swallow hard at the words that came next.

"I love you. I only wished that you'd smile. Even with our short time of knowing each other, I've grown to love you deeply. You are family, after all." Julius shot up from his end of the desk and rushed over to his grandfather, who accepted him with open arms. Julius' face buried deep into the man's chest, and for the first time in years, since his mother passed, Julius wept; his heart in his throat and sorrow built within his ribs.

His grandfather lived long enough to see him graduate from The Academy. Pride swelled when he slapped his grandson's shoulder. "You did it, son. You've truly made me proud."

Now it was Julius turn to inhabit his Grandfather's study, the one that his own father never touched. It left Julius to think, it left him to wonder and avert to Alice that was now oddly lost. The more Julius thought about it, the rarer his smile became.

His mother had the eyes of Alice, the hair that framed her lovely face, and a smile that beckoned him to return to childhood.

And so, for the first time in years, Julius sadly smiled at the recollection. Horrified that he's fallen into the footsteps of his own father; cold. Julius made a second promise that night, when he saw Alice, he was going to show emotion towards her. He wanted to learn more from her as a woman and not a patient.

-x-

Alice was offered a room on the far end of the bar to rest her head for the night. Blood informed her that he and Elliot would escort her coming dawn. It was far too dangerous to travel the back ways of the Flooded District at night.

Even if the room was the farthest thing away from the crowd, Alice could still listen through thin walls of rowdy sailors that bed women for the night. Gowland, more out of humor, told her he made sure to change the sheets just for her. Though, Alice found no comfort in that and Gowland only laughed at the expression Alice made. "Just be sure to lock ye' door at night and none of the rabble will mistake it as a vacancy. If someone gives you trouble be sure to let one of us know. You know, ye dealin' buddies."

And so Alice blew the candle out and retired for the evening. Subsiding the ringing headache she was gifted by a dared shot drink and the yells of sailors that danced on bar tops.

"_Alice." _Alice ignored the voice behind the door, she only wished to sleep and curl her hands within the sheets. _"Aliceee." _And the voice longed on, familiar. Curiosity devoured her when she arose from the sheets and paced about the wooden floors to see who called her. And when she opened the door, all the color drained from her face.

"Lorian?" Her sister smiled at her name, but her sister said nothing more, as she walked back from the door and paced down the halls of men. Alice fluttered and followed the figure that looked so much like her sister.

She couldn't tell if her mind finally snapped, or if it was the whiskey that flooded her system. _"Return home, Alice. Return and sleep. Sound and meek." _Her voice rolled, and echoed silently down amble halls of the pub. No one seemed to notice Alice as she trailed and waltzed right out the door.

"Lorian! Please, wait up! Why are you in London?" Alice didn't get an answer, only a shrouded giggle that pronounced fine behind her sister's lips. Beauty evaporated when her sister took a sharp turn and Alice lost her sister turning the corner. "Lorian." And by habit, Alice looked about upon vacant alleys of Flooded District.

Alice wanted to cry, interrupted so by another voice that rolled velvet and loving. "Alice? I've looked all over for you!" Ace stepped out from the shadows, his boots covered in river crust.

"For me?" Alice stilled, still pondering about her latest illusion; her bitter dream that led her through dark alleys that Blood warned her about.

"Eh?" Ace's eyes widen, but soon fell prey to his handsome smile, "Silly goose. The entire Clover Tower has gone haywire since you decided to go on a little adventure down the street."

"Adventure? More like dragged." Alice felt safe and vulnerable, and so she smiled up at Ace, who showed her nothing but kindness. "I was going to spend the night at the Flooded District Pub, the men that work at the Hatters promised to escort me back to the tower." Alice straighten her attire out of impulse, smoothing out the wrinkles from her dress, deciding that'd she sleep in it.

"That's mighty kind of them to do that for you, Alice. But you must miss your own bed at the tower?" Ace held out a hand for her, and Alice looked up at him to silently question. "But, if you don't mind, I can take you back now."

"But, I was told it was dangerous to walk the Flooded District alleys." Alice deadpan and her mouth went dry.

"It's only dangerous if you don't know how to maneuver on the streets. Me? Well – I grew up around Flooded District, know the place like the back of my hand."

"And yet you still become lost in the tower." Alice brimmed and accepted his hand, which only made Ace warmly chuckle. "Alright, I accept. Hm, I hope I didn't worry Julius and the rest of the staff too much with my – brief adventure."

"Adventures tend to do that, Miss Liddell. I wouldn't worry too much about that lot of people. So stick close to me, kid. I show you the best way to return to the tower. Safe and sound."

That is when the night ended and dawn broke through the horizon.

**Important:**

**I wanted to thank Guest and Person P for reviewing. I had no way of communicating to thank you both. So thank you for taking the time to read my work. Means a lot! (I try to make it a habit to thank my reviewers) **

**And oh, Ace, I wonder what will happen… and how this will unfold. You future little Jack the Ripper, you. **


	6. Chapter 6

**The Painted Woman**

_February 15, 1865: (Personal): Gray Ringmarc has finally talked me into following him on a lead. He said, he knows a couple of gentlemen that may know a thing or two about Black Market trading and expo. I'm reluctant to follow my cook's advice, even more so with leaving the tower alone to Nightmare. Nightmare has insured me that he would be able to handle himself and Vivaldi while I'm away. I assume this is a better alternative than sitting around and waiting for a miracle. Or let the police handle business when they can barely handle their own. _

The Golden Cage was an old building that's been rebuilt twice. It was first established as an old lodge that rented out rooms to weary travelers that braved the streets of Flooded District in 1845, then the building burnt to the ground. Its been said, that an estranged wife caught wind of her husband cheating in this lodge and burnt the establishment, with him in it.

The reopening of The Golden Cage was around the time Gowland opened up The Flooded District Pub in 1860. The building was then deemed fit as a brothel for Politicians to escape political mudslinging; away from prying eyes of reporters. This benefited wealthy landowners, and dukes that sank into the sin of flesh and bashful perfumes.

The Golden Cat was under rule from the notorious "Madams" oddly enough, these particular Madams were not women, but men who ran the shabby and pink whorehouse. A couple of twins that fared in their early thirties, with bright red hair and single blood eyes to complement their disarray of living. Rumor was, one twin caught an intriguing plague when he was young and it led to the blinding and hollowing of his eye; the sickness simply ate away and rotted the cornea. The other brother took notice to his twin's distress and decided to gouge his own eye out to match his brother's; the act was more out of pity, so the other brother wouldn't down himself over his misfortune.

Many people, as well as the whores that worked in The Golden Cage, have entertained the idea that these men were not right in the head, and never have been right to begin with. They'll play tricks on their girls, belittle their betters. If a client didn't have the coin to fancy them, or if the client assumed it was proper to harm one of their girls, then that client was as good as dead under the roof of The Golden Cage. You either left relieved, or pulled out in the streets in an old wine barrel. Of course, these accusations were inspired by the fabled minds of streetwalkers, and common urchin trash that lounged about gutters.

These "Madams" or "Old Gents" went by the names of Black and White. Their parents were illiterate, except for the mother who could only spell out colors, and considered it fine to name her offspring after negative spectrums; she was just seventeen when she gave birth to the twins and died in the process of gutting out the last twin from her body. The father was left to raise the two boys alone. But their father was a drunk that had penchant for beating his children when he stumbled in from the pubs; their father was only pleasant when he hadn't had a drop of the Devil's water.

"What can I do for you today?" White, the more civil twin, beamed behind the counter of the establishment, idly thumbing through the painted pornography that came in with today's shipment; a token to pass out to gentlemen callers when they asked for a particular girl by name. White may have been the more polite brother, but his actions denied so. He was considered the more despicable being out of the litter.

"What do ye think? Bloody Fool. Men can't seem to keep their own hands off their balls. They come slumping it here instead. Tch." Black rounded the hall that connected and flowed out to the lobby of the building, his knuckle tapping the counter of his brothers'. Black may speak with vile intent, oddly enough, he was the most honest and trustworthy one of the brothers. When the courtesans were in trouble, and knew it, they'd seek out Black's help before even informing White; he had a brutal way of punishing his subordinates.

"They do not seem like our regulars, brother." White kept true to his trademark smile, folding his fingers so he could rest his chin among his propped up hands. "Not that we're complaining about new money. Just that – old money seems to keep the business going." White chuckled fondly over Julius and Gray.

"We have no intentions in paying for pleasure." Gray quirked, a frown evident among his pale features. Gray was uncomfortable about being in this environment. The idea of soliciting women out seemed – dishonest. A complete sham among the female form.

"Information would better suit our taste." Julius added.

"Listen here, bloody wanker, we abide by a strict rule of client confidentiality. If ye have something up with one of those backstabbin' son of bitches up stairs, then I'd say ready a gun. And keep the blood off my girls." Black chided. Crossing his arms dully and leaning his weight against his brother's counter.

"Not from a politician. We've been looking for you. We heard around that you'd be someone to go to for black market trading – human trafficking." Julius spoke slowly. Julius's voice alone still angered Black, and the man scoffed over the audacity of this man.

"Me? Ah, yes. We run a bloody brothel, which means we pluck urchin tarts from the streets to sell to sick pricks that can't get a little somethin' from their misses at home. That sums up our work ethic. I have to applaud you for ye fine work, Mister -" Black spat sarcastically.

"– Monrey. Doctor Monrey of Clover Tower Psychiatric Center." Julius then motioned to Gray. "And this is Gray Ringmarc, my assistant."

"What's a doctor doing in the Flooded District anyways?" White humored the heated conversation, "And a brothel, no less."

"I've lost a patient. A Miss Alice Liddell." Julius answered; he kept true to his posture, even over the bickering brothers that shifted their odd eyes to each other. One brother would keep his stoic approach while the other bloomed into a smile.

"You don't say? _Thee_ Alice Liddell?" White gushed, almost laughing out loud over the situation. "Aye, aye, Good Doctor. I may know your little tart. Though, it'd be the company she keeps that should worry you."

"Company?" Gray's eyes widened and he quickly looked to Julius.

"Aye. That boy - Ace? Ace, yes, that's his name. Came in here raving about some girl he knew. Apparently, she's a pretty little thing. Real weak. From what I heard, of course. Just last night a Mister Blood Dupre and Eliot March came storming in here asking if I've seen this same girl – much like you." White's crimson iris was full of mirth, like he enjoyed painting his tale. "They said they lost her. Worried sick. Said somethin' about going to your tower to ask you personally. But that Ace kid, came in here hours ago to ask for extra bedding for a lady-friend. Dragged that little girl Alice right in here with him." White's eye narrowed, but his grin held true and stuck permanent; his features were jarring.

"Did Alice – say anything?" Julius had to keep his voice steady. He was colored shocked, and it seemed so unsettling.

"The poor lamb looked tired. Lethargic. I offered Ace to leave the girl here, so that one of my girls could bathe and dress her properly." White finally shrugged. "But that boy declined, and said he was returning her to his dwellings. I – may know something." White quickly shot his brother, Black, a sly look.

"Like?" Julius pressed on.

Black interrupted his brother with a chuckle, "Old warehouse. Head East from the Flooded District. Can't miss it. The boy use to come in here to bother me. Told me about his – hobbies. I didn't believe him, but hell."

-x-

"Come on, Alice, take your clothes off. You'll catch a cold." Ace smiled down at the young maiden who shivered under his tulip-colored vex. He dawned pure terror upon her features, but he took no heed when he began pushing down the sleeves of her dress, and fiddling with the strings of her corset that held her tiny body.

Alice wanted to cry. She wanted to shout. But all that would hear her pleas, would be the vacant walls of thick concrete that surround her. This idea mocked her, and she wanted to know what was held behind the thick iron door that riddled locks and chains; she believed freedom. "Please, Ace. I thought we were going home."

"And a promise well-kept, dear Alice! Welcome home!" Ace grinned hard. He leaned forward to peck his lips against her forehead. Alice's cheeks burned over body heat and rage and utter sorrow. "But I can't have you – tainted if you want to go further into your new home. So, please, Alice. Take off your clothes." His voice dropped a few octaves. His crimson eyes stained her very mind when he looked down and raked over her body once. His gloved hands were becoming bothersome, troubling, and Alice thrashed against his grasp.

Still, Ace would chuckle and he would fuss over her clothing. He began to talk slower to her, his face nuzzling against the crook of her now bare neck.

A monster lives in his eyes. Shining rubies that are beautiful and alluring. Alice is quick to move away, but his hand is tight against her body and he finally manages to remove the articles of clothing from her body; her dress bunches at the ankle of her boots and her corset is undone and unjust. Her skin is virgin-white against the oil lamp that illuminates against the dark corners of the cell that Ace dragged her in. Her eyes are dull like a night sky, after it has drunk from the oceans for so long. "Please, Ace." Alice murmurs in defeat and she's repulsed by her indecency, but she has no time to ponder over her modesty when a madman watches her through the thick engulfing darkness. Alice wishes to plead more, but her voice is swallowed by void, and the way daring eyes watch her; caudle her. And so she cries.

"Why – are you crying, dear Alice?" His gloved fingers trace down her bare arms, and Alice desperately tries to wipe the existences from her waterfall-tinted eyes. Ace's features distort, and he seems like an innocent boy again, begging for attention from a mother. "Don't cry, Alice. I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever. Knights' promise." And so the deranged man promised. But did he figure it was him, that's been hurting her? Frightening her. Daunting her with his blood-soaked gaze. Probably not. Madmen seem to believe they're doing the world good in their waterwheel turning minds.

Ace's head tilts and he leads a single gloved hand to cradle the side of her jaw tenderly, guiding her to look up at him. He'd gently smile, but Alice only sobs more. Her hands cross over her chest to hide her shame. The lunatic slowly moves into her space, nuzzling his forehead gently against hers; he attempts in subsiding her bleeding voice; the same voice that smothers the darkness of his mind. "We will get you washed up and into new clothes. I picked up some today. Remember?" Still, Alice does not answer him and can only retort to her sickness, curling and thinking of her little space in Clover Tower; at first, she doesn't even think about her home in Oxford. Alice misses Vivaldi's complaints, Nightmare's troubled sleeping, Gray's horrible cooking, and Julius's advice that rings in her ears.

Ace's fingers begin to map out a course of her body, tendrils of tiny movements that run down the flat of her stomach. Round fingers loop about her garter belt, tugging the cloth down along with her stockings that are connected. Her hands shove against his chest, but he still manages to finally remove her boots along with her attire, while slipping the stockings down.

No one would have guessed that Ace, before his brain fevers caught up with him, before madness took its first bite into the back of his cerebellum, and before he heard the whispers from doors and from space; he was a reasonable man that was raised in the back-alleys of The Flooded District. He even gained entry into the King's Royal Guard once he hit proper age of recruitment. Still, madness waits for no man and was discharged from the program over dishonorable conduct. Ace returned to his peddling days, waiting for prey; he also worked several mills to make a shilling or two.

He has a habit for killing people who threaten to leave him. He has an unusual hate for these types of people. He can't stand abandonment. He hasn't been the same since he was that ten-year old boy, practically begging for his mother not to leave him. The last thing he remembered from his youth, was his mother's parting words as she drifted off into death, "How about another whiskey for Mum?" He remembered smuggling whiskey for his mother; something to ease the pain when her bones didn't sit right.

"Ace –"Alice reasons with herself, her voice finally basking in a rush of confidence. Even if she's completely bare to the elements around her, she'll choke under her unruly voice. "– Ace, you don't have to do this. I won't tell anyone what happened here. You and I can walk together to the tower. I'll be with you every step of the way to get you help." Oh, and how Ace smiled at the idea of being together. At least she didn't damper the mood by saying _leave her alon_e. Alice is practically grasping at straw and doesn't fight against the roaming gloved-fingers. Still, her gut turns and she wants to heave over the scare.

Her words are enough to cease his mischief and his eyes widen to her broken-china voice.

"You'll turn a man's head with such talk, Miss Liddell. Always so kind. So beautiful." The man lightly chuckles against her skin. He presses her naked form against his clothed body and out of reflex, Alice grips to the oversized, and damaged coat that surrounds his bulky form; the leather of his gloves dig into the small of her back. He's simply hugging her fragile shape, and he closes his eyes over the sweet proximity of her body. "I –"Ace swallows, "- I can't kill you." Of course he couldn't kill her. He's heard and felt her heart rush over the excitement; she's different from all those women that he's slain in the past. She's frozen under his words. She's shaken by his nature. He just admitted he was going to kill her, but fell back on plan because she spoke a few kind words.

Alice is quiet, stunned into silence. She lets Ace finish whatever he wants. Gives him all the time in the world. "Let's – get you cleaned up. Let's get you dressed. I'll send you back to the doctor." Ace has no idea why he's snapped, or the reason behind rejecting his original plan. Perhaps it was the idea that Alice didn't fight against his words, or the way she promised to never leave him alone.

He never shows her his collection of bodies that waited locked under key. Behind that iron door riddled in locks and chains.

-x-

Pierce Villiers digs away at the earth and toils the soil from underneath his stained boots. Dreamily, he'd lean into the shovel and stare off into space, his mind wrapped in a peculiar void that he hasn't quite shaken off yet with the cold weather.

"Aye, boy. Come here." Blood steps into the canvas of the graveyard, hauling another briefcase that has yet been damaged by the contents on the inside of the case; blood was sure to seep and ruin the interior, but today the hatter was lucky.

"Sir?" Pierce's green eyes widen to his boss that drags in the case closer and closer to the already hollowed out hole of the earth. The young man wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, this only leads to caking his brow with mud. "Somethin' I can do for ya?" Pierce's voice is meek, but riddled in his inquisitive nature; he tilts his head in the quizzical fashion.

"Something that you missed." Blood frowns. He sets the briefcase down and kicks it to the side with his fine dress shoes, then he pats his strained hands on his pants, ridding any grime that graced his tailor-made clothing. "We can't have this misplaced. You should know better, boy." Blood's eyes narrow at the lad with the shovel. Pierce is quick to nod his head.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Pierce lays his shovel out and pulls at the suitcase in great haste. The boy is quick to rid evidence of Hatter business. This young man was the best in the business in hiding parts that should not be floating down the harbor of Flooded District. "Ah!" Pierce's voice rings out and just before Blood could turn on heel, the boy calls out to him.

"Sir! I forgot to notarize you about a guest. An unusual guest, that pass two hours prior." The boy talks while pulling the handle of the case, dragging it to the shallow grave and placing the briefcase in the hole with care.

"Ah? Enlighten me." Blood humors the boy. His voice laced in ill-natures.

"A Mister Peter White of the Metropolitan. He came askin' me about your interest. Basically, uninteresting topics, but something that I should inform you about, boss." The young man holds his breath for a second, eyed down by a complex blue.

"And what did you tell our police friend?" Blood cracks a smile, his arms crossing behind his back without a care.

"Well – he was askin' if I saw some tart wanderin' the streets at night. I told him only the girls that I see walkin' live at the Hatters, upstairs. Then he asked your whereabouts. I answered truthfully, like you always told me to be. I told him, that you were out for the evening with Mister March." Pierce hummed for a minute, thinking back on the conversation. "He said he wanted to have a look around the Hatters. I said it wasn't my place to decide, and that I should consult you beforehand." Pierce patted down his coat pockets, "Ah! And Doctor Monrey came by hours ago to give you the letters your sister wrote. I kept them safe, of course."

The gravedigger brimmed and smiled hard when he handed the wrinkled envelopes to his boss. "Beside that sir, nothin' has caught my fancy, nor any concern to be mentioned."

"Very well. Thank you." Blood simply states before leaving his gravedigger's presences.

-x-

"Don't be afraid Alice. I didn't go back on my word. Come now." Alice was finally allowed to clean herself off after trekking through the Flooded District. River-crust caked her boots, and stained the hem of her dress. But she finally found the time to rewrite the wrong and prepared herself presentable when she'd be allowed back at the Tower.

The girl was hesitant, weary of the man who murmured her demise. But she wasn't stupid. She knew if you pushed a man hard enough, he will avert to his primal need of domination. So, the young maiden played it collectively, and faked a dawning smile to the madman that guided her out of the warehouse. She placed her hand within his large hand and he led her into the sunshine,, basking in the warm rays.

"Miss Liddell!" Just as the door opened to reveal the world. Gray was the first to come hauling into her, his hands latching on to her arms. Gently, he checked the girl over, tilting her one way to another, his rough hands gripping at the furs that covered her bare arms. "We – I," Gray takes in a great deal of breath, and he hugged Alice to his chest, "You're okay? Right? No one touched you. No harm done, correct? Did anyone talk to you unkind? Are you ill -" He held her close to his chest, and all the air from Alice left her system when she settled against him. "It does not matter. You are okay. You will be fine."

Gray peeks over Alice's head and his eyes narrowed at the madman behind Alice. "Hello, Guv'nor. Wasn't expecting a little party." Ace beamed and Gray frowned hard at his ridicules existence. "All is fine and dandy. I was just about to take the little miss home."

Alice makes no need to move, but Gray pulls her back to study the expression painted oddly on Alice's features. She'd glance to the side, not matching up to Gray's doubtful glare, solemnly she stood in wait. "Alice –"

"I just want to go home." She cuts the cook off.

"Miss Liddell, you caused a bit of ruckus over your disappearance." Julius drew near. Alice shifted away from Gray and nodded off on an apology.

"In all respect…I am sorry." The girl murmurs, still thinking about the events that unfolded ten minutes prior. She has been spooked. It was something she wasn't comprehending. Still, Alice walked up to Julius and the man stilled when her eyes caught up with him.

"Not your fault, Alice. Now –"Julius clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest, "are you ready to go home? I can only imagine you're exhausted from your journey. You don't have to explain anything now, but I'd like to brief you – on what may have happened these past two days. Reasonably, Miss Liddell, I was incredibly worried about you."

Finally, Alice caught up with herself and she was fast to latch her arms around Julius's waist. The woman snapped, and she cried into the doctor's chest. This sign of affection was off to Julius. He's only listened to problems, not address them in a touchy way. The notion seemed so foreign. "I don't want to leave you. I don't want –"She has trouble forming her words. Gray frowns with reasonable concern. Ace stands and watches, he's intrigued by his doctor's stance, and so he glowers his menacing grin; a tad innocent and blanketed so well.

Still, Julius hugged her back. Awkwardly patting her back.

-x-

**Black and White Joker: Just a couple of guys that run a whore house. I hope to apply them more to the story later on. Black may say mean shit to his girls, secretly he cares for them. White - is just a scary guy. (White was the one who got sick in the first place. After losing his eye, Black removed his own eye, so his brother wouldn't use that as a crutch.)**

**Pierce Villiers: In charge of hiding the Hatters' dirty work. Hides bodies much like his original role in the stories. **

**Ace: I had to put something for Ace. He cares for Alice, but he's still a nutcase that could actually kill her one day. Even if I won't allow it… Ace will be a huge factor in this story and I'm sure the epilogue to this tale will straighten everything out.**

**Hello Guv'nor: Slang from lower class addressing higher class.**

**Warning: I'm considering on bumping this story to mature audience… Probably around in two chapters. Still gotta' build up that romance.**

**A little Trivia: We all knew that Julius represents time in the Alice in Wonderland series books. Apparently, in the story, The Mad Hatter kills time at a singing party in the Queen of Heart's Castle. As punishment for the murder, he along with the March Hare and The Dormouse is cursed to always be in Tea Time. Like Afternoonish – or whatever. I don't know about that, I just thought it was weirdly mentioned when I was brushing up on the story. **


End file.
